Future Shock
by Net Girl
Summary: Investigation of a mysterious opening between dimensions brings the Doctor and Martha to the US, in 2007. However, as a result, they end up with more trouble than they'd ever planned on ... Dean Winchester.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: PG-13, for some language.

Summary: Investigation of a mysterious opening between dimensions brings the Doctor and Martha to the US, in 2007. However, as a result, they end up with more trouble than they'd ever planned on ... Dean Winchester.

Spoilers: Seasons One & Two of SPN, all Series' of new school DW. With some old school references thrown in.

Disclaimer: All _Supernatural _characters belong to Eric Kripke, Warner Brothers Television Productions, and their many, many well-paid lawyers. All _Doctor Who_ characters belong to the BBC, Sydney Newman, Donald Wilson, C.E. Webber, Russell T. Davies, and their many, many well-paid lawyers. I am NOT making any money off this, nor am I trying to infringe on anyone's copyright. Believe that. Any characters you do not recognize belong to me.

"Future Shock"

by Net Girl

The dead quiet of the derelict cemetery was broken by a steady, low mechanical whir, one which gradually grew louder as a strange blue box materialized out of thin air. After it had completely solidified, the accompanying noise ceased, and one of the doors creaked open.

The Doctor poked his head through the opening and looked from his left to his right. An eyebrow raised when he realized where they'd arrived. It wasn't quite what he expected, not for what they were there for. He stepped out of the TARDIS. His bright blue suit appeared to have a shine of its own in the late afternoon sunlight.

"Where are we?" asked Martha Jones as she reached the open door. Her eager smile vanished. Just as the Doctor did, she scanned the area before she exited. "_This_ is where the readings originated from?"

The Doctor, a hand on top of his head, pivoted on a heel as he looked over his shoulder to her. "It would seem so," he simply answered.

"You're _certain_ you're in the right place?" Martha joined him. "Maybe you punched the wrong button? Wouldn't be the first time it's happened."

His hand dropped to his side. "The TARDIS controls have been dodgy lately. It wasn't entirely my fault. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"

"If you call being stuck on Vargas slash six three for a whole week _working_ ..." She smiled a bit as she trailed off.

"We'll have a look about," he went on, ignoring her playful grin. The trademark expression of concern crossed his features. "Whatever happened here, the disturbance was massive," he quietly added. He gave the cemetery another once over. Everything _appeared_ in order. For a cemetery, at any rate.

"What could've caused a rip here?" Martha wondered as the Doctor removed his sonic screwdriver from his inner jacket pocket.

"It wasn't so much a _rip_ as an _opening_," the Doctor replied as he tinkered with the settings on the device. "This was controlled. Not like most of the other instances in which I've seen it occur." He gestured to his right. "Take a look over there and I'll go this way." He nodded to his left.

Martha pointed to the screwdriver. "Don't I get one of those?"

"Well, I'm the only one qualified to operate it," he replied after a hesitation. Actually, he simply didn't want to give over one of his backups. It wasn't personal, he trusted Martha, but he was quite attached to his sonic screwdrivers.

"Oh, right," Martha wryly said as she folded her arms across her chest. "Flip a switch, press a button. Definitely not qualified to do that, am I?"

"Now's not the time to be cheeky, Martha – we've work to do." He flicked the screwdriver on and began to walk around the back of the crypt then disappeared from her sight.

Shaking her head, Martha's arms dropped to her sides and she headed around the crypt in the opposite direction. She wasn't sure why she kept trying to get the Doctor to notice she fancied him more than a little. After all of the time they'd spent together, she was rather sure it was more than the loss of his past companion, Rose Tyler, which made him so thick. Then again, he _was_ an alien. A bloody thick alien.

On her side, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was a simple old, forgotten cemetery somewhere in the western United States. Wyoming, if she recalled the Doctor correctly. Not exactly her idea of an exciting adventure, especially after nearly being burned to a crisp by a sentient sun. And, then, essentially being 'stuck' in 1913 for nearly three months during a more recent one.

Yet, when the TARDIS picked up on a temporal disturbance of this nature, the Doctor had to investigate. There was no choice.

As she studied the area, she noticed something - the incredibly eerie _silence_. Save for the high-pitched trill of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver on the opposite side of the crypt itself, of course. Normally, birds and insects could be heard very clearly in places like these. Not here. The lack of the sound of nature unnerved her. She wondered if he'd noted it?

When she reached the front, she looked to the sky. Not even a single bird flew past. Strange. Her gaze lowered as the trill increased in pitch, and she saw the Doctor at the crypt's entranceway. "What is it?" she asked, putting the oddity out of her mind.

"I've found it," he replied as he waved the screwdriver over a fitted opening near the door. He glanced at Martha as she joined him. "Do you see this?" He motioned to it as he let his thumb off of the screwdriver and the trill ceased.

Martha squatted beside the Doctor, and she carefully ran her fingers over the opening. "It's ... almost like ... a lock," she murmured. "Why would a crypt need a lock, especially one so complicated?"

"This is more than a mere crypt, Martha," he said as he fished around in his pockets. He paused when he removed a few loose Jelly Babies from one of them, then pitched them aside after he decided he probably shouldn't chance eating one. "It's a gateway to another dimension. Which one, I don't even know. It's not often I say that."

As he fiddled with the settings on the device once more, Martha looked to him, an eyebrow cocked in an unamused manner.

He placed the head of the screwdriver into the keyhole. After an irritated squeal from the device, he frowned. "That isn't good."

"What's the matter?"

"This is definitely the source, but I was too right when I said the disturbance was controlled." He removed the screwdriver. "Someone did open this gateway." He readjusted the settings. "It wasn't pried, either." He glanced at her before he replaced the device in the hole. "He had the key for it."

"How would you know?" she asked, her eyebrow now skeptically raised.

"It's a deadlock." He scowled when the screwdriver made another strange sound. "Come on, then ..." He shifted the settings then pushed the button once more.

"Can't you melt it or something?" Martha suggested after a few moments of his struggling with the irritated yelps from the screwdriver.

"I'm trying ..." The device screeched once again. "But the blasted thing won't ..." He sighed in frustration as he sat back on his heels.

"Why would someone open it?" Martha tilted her head back to look up at the crypt. "And how did a trans-dimensional gate end up in the middle of an American cemetery, anyway?"

"Long ago, they weren't uncommon in every corner of the universe," the Doctor explained as he fiddled with the screwdriver's settings. "The Time Lords sealed nearly all of them over the millennia."

"Why?"

"The beings on the other side excel in creating havoc. For most, it's all they know how or care to do."

"This is the only one in our corner? Earth, I mean?"

"Actually, I didn't know this one existed. And that surprises me." He frowned as he scratched his chin. "It takes a lot to surprise me these days."

"I've noticed," she murmured.

"There is, well _was_, one known trans-dimensional gateway in the States. In southern California; a fissure more than a gate, really," he said as he went back to the screwdriver. "It was mysteriously sealed about three or four years ago." He looked away, thoughtful. "Never did bother to figure out how that happened."

"Why California?"

He shrugged. "Why Glastonbury? That's where the one in Britain was." He let out a frustrated breath as he studied the keyhole. "This isn't a Time Lord-made lock. I can't fathom who else would have the inclination or the ability to do it. Other than the Eternals. Or one of the Guardians." He briefly paused in his work then shook his head. "And I doubt it was any of them." He studied the readings on the screwdriver. "There's something else." He shifted his attention to her. "This gateway isn't natural. Someone _created_ it."

"How do you create a trans-dimensional gateway?"

"Oh, a tachyon accelerator positioned so that it can emit a steady tachyon stream onto a super-dense gravitic lens, which will focus the tachyon field into a single plane within stable protonic matter. The gravitic lens is used to refract the tachyon stream along the dimensional axis -" He stopped when he saw the way Martha stared at him. "Sorry."

She raised up her hands. "I shouldn't have asked."

The Doctor managed a smile, then tried the new settings on the keyhole. After another aggravated chirp from the device, he ran a hand through his hair and his fingers tightened around locks of it. "Since I can't seal it off myself ..."

"We find the key," Martha finished. "To make absolutely certain it _never_ opens again."

The Doctor nodded as he rose to his feet, as did she. "Shouldn't be difficult," he said as he scanned the keyhole with the sonic screwdriver. Once he was finished, he held it up. "The signature which led us here will also lead us to the key, and whoever has it."

She frowned. "Which reminds me of my other question – what sort of human being would willingly open it? Aren't they aware of what they might have ... released into _this_ dimension?"

"If it was even a _human_."

He gazed up at the symbols around the doorway of the crypt. He recognized most of them. They resembled ones he'd seen at an archaeological dig in Wiltshire during his third incarnation. The time when he was exiled to Earth by the Time Lords and functioned a part of UNIT, which was under Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart's command then.

"As impossible as it is, I've a fair idea of what may've escaped ..."

"What do you suspect it was?" Eyebrows raised, Martha looked to him. Despite her relatively short time with the Doctor, she knew whenever he made statements like that it was rarely good.

"I shouldn't say until I'm _positive_," he answered as he looked to her. He tucked the screwdriver back into his coat. With not a hint of a doom and gloom on his face, he cheerfully declared, "Let's find our key."

* * *

**Somewhere in Colorado ...**

"Well," Dean Winchester said as he shoved his cell phone into the pocket of his open flannel shirt. "Bobby's already on some job in Illinois."

Sam glanced away from the text which lay open in front of him on the small table. "What about Ellen? Any word on her?"

"Stayin' with Jo. For now." He sat down on the full bed nearest Sam. "She's fine," he assured him. "Don't worry."

After a nod, Sam focused on his book. It'd only been five days since the incident at the Hellgate in Wyoming, as well as the destruction of the yellow-eyed demon. Even with the knowledge a couple hundred demons escaped Hell, that simple fact should've been cause for more celebration. For them both.

He stared at the images on the page before him - illustrations of Dante's version of Hell. Where gruesome tortures befell human souls, the degree of heinousness dependent on the severity of their sins. He wondered which Level Dante would've placed someone who sold his soul to a demon? Academics aside, the reality remained – Dean didn't have much time left.

"So, I was thinkin'," Dean sighed as he kicked back on the bed. He folded his hands together behind his head and used them as a pillow as he gazed at the water-stained ceiling. "Tonight, I say we hit every dive bar within a fifty mile radius." He glanced at his brother. "You bein' Designated Driver Dave, of course."

"And you'll be Designated Drunk-Off-Your-Ass Dean," Sam muttered, his eyes never leaving the book.

Either he didn't hear Sam or chose to ignore him, because he only kept talking. "You and me, we'll find us a couple of chicks, have some fun." He looked to Sam. "You remember fun, right? Where you don't read books and generally don't give a crap about anything except a good time?"

"You want to go out, feel free," Sam casually replied as he flipped the page. "Just call if you need me."

"What's _with_ you?" Dean asked as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Christ, you don't want to enjoy anything even after bein' _dead_? Look, we don't have a lotta time left to do stuff like this together. So stop being a poindexter and let's go."

"Maybe some other night," Sam replied as he rested his chin in the palm of one of his hands. "If you want to go out, by all means, go. I have things to do."

With a frustrated sigh, Dean jumped to his feet and came over to the table. He slammed the book shut. Startled, Sam looked up to him. "No more reading." He tossed the book into the far corner of the room. "Get your coat on, we're friggin' goin'." He watched as Sam simply retrieved his book. "Sam?"

"I'm busy." He waved a hand towards the door as he sat down at the table again. "Go. Like I said – call if you need me."

* * *

The lid of the boot popped open. The Doctor tucked his sonic screwdriver into the pocket of his brown overcoat. Nothing. Empty. His mouth quirked, wondering what was wrong. The source of the signal was in this vehicle. Upon closer examination, he noticed something. There was another level to it. As the secondary lid raised, his accomplished grin turned to mild surprise.

Martha stared at the contents before she finally asked, "What the hell is all of that?" She looked to the Doctor, who surveyed the odd collection of weapons and (what appeared to her to be) duff. "Can we assume this lot isn't nice now?"

"Don't rush to judgment just yet," the Doctor admonished as he leaned into the back. He carefully pushed aside some of the weapons. "Look at this!" He held up a silver pendant with markings unknown to Martha. "A Reknit pendant. Haven't seen one in centuries."

She accepted it from him, hesitantly. It was interesting-looking, to say the least. "What is it? Does it _do_ something?"

"No," he answered as he shook his head. "Bit of gaudy fancy dress bauble from the planet Reknit. They never did have proper taste in anything, much less personal decoration."

She replaced it into the boot then gingerly picked up an extremely long knife with a serrated edge. "And this?" She nodded to it. "A matchin' sword to go with it?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Merely a knife." He continued to search. "Where _are_ you?" he muttered. The TARDIS pinpointed this particular motor as the source of the energy connected to the gateway. It would've helped greatly to know exactly what it was he was searching _for_.

After giving the knife another glance over, Martha returned it to the boot. She couldn't begin to imagine the uses the owners of the car had for such things. Alien fancy dress pendants? Knives? Shotguns? Who knew _ what_ was giving off that foul odor?

"This is intriguing," the Doctor suddenly declared. He stood up straight, a big grin on his face as he held up a small ammunitions box. "Rock salt cartridges!"

She peered into the box then frowned. "More alien party goods?"

"No. Used rock salt cartridges to defeat the Fendahleen," the Doctor replied, still grinning. "Haven't any idea what use they'd have for it, though."

"Fendahleen, maybe?"

"Impossible," he firmly replied, shaking his head. "The Fendahleen don't exist without the being which controls them." He placed the box then continued his search. "I would've known if the Fendahl had returned." He stood straight again. "Here we are!" he exclaimed. "This is it."

Martha's eagerness in seeing what a trans-dimensional gate key looked like was quickly replaced by disappointment. "_That's_ the key?" She watched him use the sonic screwdriver to scan an old Colt revolver. "Are you serious?"

He flicked the screwdriver off and nodded. "Absolutely." He turned the gun as he frowned. "Something's not quite right about it ..."

"I'll say. It's a _gun_."

"No, Martha. It's more than what it is ..."

* * *

"You've been like this all week," Dean said. He placed his palms flat on the table as he leaned forward. "We deserve some time off, Sam. Don't you feel entitled?" When Sam didn't reply, he stood straight. "You're really not goin'?"

"Really," Sam assured him.

"This sucks. No, _you_ suck," Dean corrected himself as he jabbed a finger at Sam.

Sam lifted his head and was about to reply when he noticed something outside in the parking lot. "Dean," he said in a low, even tone. "Did you leave the trunk open?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course I didn't. What am I, stupid?"

Slowly, Sam rose to his feet, his eyes still on the Impala. "Then why's it open now?" He gestured to the window.

"Shit," Dean breathed. Before he headed out of the room, he snatched up his 9MM from the nightstand.

"Dean, wait -" Sam paused to consider taking his own gun but, instead, simply followed his brother.

* * *

"Doctor, what's wrong?" Martha asked, unsettled by the expression on his face as he beheld the Colt. He seemed almost ... enthralled by it. "Doctor?" she said a little louder.

His body tingled oddly almost as soon as he'd touched the cold metal. It was a sensation like no other he'd experienced before. "It's ... it's emitting a distorted subharmoic pulse -" He stopped when he heard one of the motel room doors open. Quickly, he dropped the Colt and his screwdriver into one of his overcoat pockets.

Martha looked from the Doctor to the two young men - one of which had a gun leveled on them - who'd appeared at the back end of the car. They seemed human enough. However, if she'd learned one lesson early on during her travels with the Doctor, _looking_ human didn't matter. Usually, the more fit, the more deadly.

"Who the hell're you and what the hell're you doin' in my car?" the one with the gun demanded.

Sam, though, was surprised by the couple before them.

The man, probably no older than Dean, was dressed in a tailored blue pinstripe suit, a brown trenchcoat and worn out white Converse shoes. Just behind him, an extremely pretty young woman, maybe closer to his own age, was in jeans, a black top and a fitted red leather jacket. Certainly not the kind of people they came across on a regular basis. Neither one appeared particularly threatening or potentially dangerous. Then again, he knew from first-hand experience, evil came in all forms. Usually, the more attractive, the more deadly.

The Doctor, hands half-raised, pleasantly smiled. "Hello!" he cheerfully greeted. "I'm the Doctor, this is Martha." He nodded to the Impala. "We were only passing by and noticed your boot wasn't secured."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "My _what_?"

"I think he means the trunk," Sam murmured.

"_Right_!" The Doctor snapped his fingers. "The _trunk_! Thought we'd do the proper thing and close it." He placed a hand on the lid then gently brought it down until it latched. "We'll be off, then." He waved then gestured for Martha to follow him. However, he only managed two steps before the sound of a hammer being cocked stopped him cold.

"Doctor," Martha said under her breath, her eyes riveted to the gun in Dean's hands.

"Yeah, right." Dean smirked. "Must be some walk the two of you are on, huh? Little far from home, aren't you?"

The Doctor looked to Martha, more than a bit surprised. "What do you mean by that?" There was absolutely no way this man could know whom he _truly_ was.

Martha pointed to one of the rooms farther down, near the corner the building, where the Doctor had "parked" the TARDIS. "We were on our way back to our room when we saw your car," she replied. She could see the suspicion still in their eyes. With a smile, she linked her arm with one of the Doctor's. "Really, ask the clerk, if you like. Room 42."

"Room 42?" Dean repeated.

She nodded. "We're on holiday," she continued as she smiled up at the Doctor. "Experience the _real_ America. Visit the spots no one else usually goes, the really fascinating places. Honestly, if you've seen one big city, you've seen'em all!"

Dean exchanged a look with Sam, then he relaxed just enough to uncock the hammer and lower his gun. He raised an eyebrow. Sam understood.

"Oi!" Martha exclaimed as water splattered across her face and chest. Arms out at her sides, she glanced from her shirt to the taller of the two. In the next motion, he did the same to the Doctor. "Are you mental? What the hell're you doing?" She wiped the water away from her jacket the best she could.

"Sorry," Sam apologized as he put the cap back on the flask of holy water.

The Doctor stared at the wet splotches on his suit and overcoat. After a moment, he raised his head. "Exactly what was the purpose of this?" he asked in an even voice.

Sam looked to Dean. Obviously, these two were as human as they were. Though, with everything that had happened lately, it was a fair assumption. "Just ... checking something," he finally replied.

"What? If water's still wet?" Martha shot back. If they'd ruined her jacket, she'd be more than furious. She accepted the handkerchief the Doctor offered her. "Thanks."

Sam glanced between them. They were an odd couple, but nothing to be concerned about. Maybe they were as they seemed. Maybe they were simply a couple on vacation. Maybe the job had them so paranoid, they'd just insulted foreign visitors.

"If you're quite satisfied with the results, we'll be off," the Doctor said as he offered something of a smile. To continue the discussion increased the chance these two would discover he'd taken the Colt before they could escape.

Martha, though, half-scowled. Not only did she have a gun thrust in her face, she'd been doused with water for apparently no good reason. Was every American this off his trolley? He couldn't be. Certainly not.

"Good day!" the Doctor called as he feigned tipping a hat to them. He turned and fell into step beside Martha. "That was close," he breathed.

"Absolutely mad, they are," she muttered as she finished drying off her jacket and face. "Good thing we showed when we did. No telling what they might've done with that." She nodded to his coat pocket. "Unless they've done so already."

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder as he watched the one who had the gun open the boot. "I don't believe they were responsible."

"What makes you so sure?"

He took hold of her arm and quickened his pace. "No time to bother with that." They vanished around the far end of the motel building.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked as Dean dug through the contents of the trunk.

"Makin' sure everything's here. Strange those two didn't bat an eye at any of this." He waved one hand at the collection of weapons and gear.

"Maybe they thought it would've been rude to ask?" Sam suggested. "They _are_ from England. Different set of social standards and rules over there."

"I don't care what country you're from, Sam. This -" He paused to point to the trunk again. "- is weird to normal people. And normal people ask questions about what's weird." Suddenly, he slammed an open hand against the top of the trunk. "Son of a bitch!"

"What is it?"

"The Colt's missing," Dean replied as he grabbed one of the shotguns. He shut the trunk. "You stay here."

"You shouldn't go alone -"

He stopped when Dean only sprinted in the direction the couple had gone. Before he followed, he realized he'd no weapon. And Dean had the keys to the trunk. He ran back into the motel room to retrieve his own gun.

End Chapter One.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Inside of the TARDIS, the Doctor leaned against the console as he slipped on his glasses. "Let's have a closer look at you," he murmured as he brought out the Colt.

Martha closed the door and ascended the walkway. "Still can't fathom how that's a key to _anything_." She watched him hold up the gun. The light reflected off of its dark surface in an eerie manner.

"In my experience, keys come in all sorts of shapes and sizes," he replied. His brow furrowed as he felt that pulse again. What _was_ it? He drew in a deep breath as he shifted his attention to her. "Sometimes, even a person could be a key. Or a _part_ of one."

"What are you going to do with it? Keep it here?"

"This isn't something I should like to keep aboard. Any chance I may lose it is a chance I'd rather not take." Gently, he placed the Colt on the console then went over to one of the monitors. "I'll locate a star which is near supernova ..."

"Throw it in and let the universe do the rest," she finished with a smile.

The Doctor grinned. "You're catching on brilliantly, Martha Jones." He tapped the finger on the alien language which popped up before them. "Here. A star in the Ysatnaf system is due soon."

* * *

Dean rounded the back of the main motel building and stopped when he saw absolutely nothing behind it. Only open field, for as far as the eye could see. Where the hell'd they go? Did they teleport or what? No trees to hide behind. No other buildings. The two looked like they were in shape, but they couldn't have run _that_ far in a little under a minute. No human being could've.

As he looked to his left, he narrowed his eyes, puzzled. About 200 feet to the west stood a strange dark blue box, maybe 8 or 9 feet tall, and at its top was a small enclosed light. Considering there was nowhere else the two could've gone, he assumed it was worth checking out. When close enough, he made out wording near the top: 'Police Public Call Box'.

"What the hell is that?" he wondered out loud.

After a hesitation, he placed a flat palm on the surface. Wood. A wooden box. In the middle of nowhere. One he was sure wasn't there when they'd checked in the evening before. This was definitely something a person would notice. He stepped back and searched for an entrance. As he came around to the other side, he discovered a set of doors. On one was a posted message: 'Police Telephone. Free. For Use of the Public.' Below the rest of the "instructions" was: 'Pull To Open'. Simple enough.

Before he did, he checked his ammunition, then frowned, cursing under his breath. In his haste, he'd grabbed one loaded with rock salt. His gaze settled on the door. After a moment, he reached for the handle.

* * *

"Shouldn't take long to get there," the Doctor assured Martha as he toyed with the dials. "Then we're off to our next destination!"

They were both so busy, they didn't hear the TARDIS door quietly creak open.

"Have I told you about the Eye of Orion, Martha?"

She shook her head, a wonder-filled expression on her face. "No. What's that, then?"

"One of the most beautiful, tranquil spots in the whole of the universe!" He grinned as he recalled the last visit he'd paid to the place. Nearly ... five incarnations ago. Definitely long overdue to return. "You'll love it."

Martha was about to respond but, instead, she gasped when she heard the sound of a shotgun being pumped. After she slowly turned, she saw one of the young men from the motel approaching them. One of the shotguns pointed directly at them. "Doctor?"

Wrapped up in his work, the Doctor hadn't even heard what Martha did. His face fell when he lifted his head to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. "Didn't lock the doors, did you?" he murmured.

"No. Sorry." The _one_ time she didn't think of it, _this_ was the result.

Dean noticed the Colt rested on the strange console in the middle of the room. It wasn't until then he realized the room was entirely too huge to be contained within that small box. Whoever these two were, they were working serious voodoo. Or maybe something even _more_ dangerous. "Just bein' neighborly, huh?" He shifted his attention to the Doctor, who'd placed himself between Martha and the shotgun.

"If you'll let me to explain _why_ I -"

"I don't give a damn why!" he snapped, cutting the Doctor off in mid-sentence. "I just know you're givin' it back."

The Doctor kept his hands up in a non-threatening manner as he took two steps forward. "I don't intend you any harm," he calmly stated. "I apologize for lying to you, but it's absolutely imperative we remove the gun from this planet and destroy it."

Dean's finger hovered over the trigger. "What are you talking about?" This _planet_?

The Doctor motioned to the Colt. "It's a key to a trans-dimensional gateway. A gateway which was recently opened, a fact I'm not sure you're even aware of -"

"I'm aware. We didn't open it, but we sure as hell closed it." He nodded to the Colt. "Toss it here and this'll end on a good note for all of us. You don't intend any harm? Neither do I."

The Doctor took another step forward. "You must understand, I can't allow you to keep something as dangerous as -"

"And I don't care what you'll _allow_. That belongs to us."

Martha looked down. The Doctor had one hand behind his back. She watched him gesture to a section of the console where a button flashed red, then he opened his hand. When she understood what she was to do, she gingerly tapped his arm.

"I _am_ sorry, but that isn't possible," the Doctor replied. Behind him, he ticked off his fingers in a countdown. "If you'd please put down the gun before someone is hurt -"

When no fingers remained, Martha hit the blinking button on the console. The TARDIS violently shifted and it pitched her forward into the console itself. Luckily, she'd managed to grab onto it before she banged her head.

On the opposite side, the movement also caught Dean off-guard. He lost his balance as well as the control over the gun in his hands. Prepared for the event, the Doctor lunged for the shotgun. Before he could grab it, Dean's finger accidentally depressed the trigger and rock salt peppered the TARDIS's console. The resulting sparks and smoke forced Martha to shield her eyes. Dean lost the gun as the Doctor latched onto the barrel then yanked it from his hands. He glanced at the other man then noticed the Colt had landed on the floor, just in front of him. Quickly, before the Doctor noticed it, too, Dean snatched it and made a move for the door.

The Doctor was about to give chase but the familiar whir of the TARDIS caught his attention. Head tilted back, he murmured, "We're dematerializing." He flicked his gaze to Dean who ambled down the walkway, towards the doors. "Martha – _STOP HIM_!" he shouted as he pointed.

Without any question, she sprinted past the Doctor. Dean was almost to the open doors when she snagged him by his flannel shirt. Curious as to what had him, he whirled around to find Martha before him.

Frantically, the Doctor darted around the sparking console as he hit buttons and threw levers. He glanced in the direction of the doors, relieved to see Martha had stopped the young man.

Dean was about to make a run for it when the TARDIS angrily shuddered once more. He fell into Martha. Unfortunately, she wasn't prepared for the second shift, either. The two of them tumbled to the floor, Dean's head smacked against the metal railing – _hard _- on their way down.

"Shut the doors!" the Doctor called. The panic was in his voice. He couldn't let it control him. Or else they would surely die.

Martha hauled herself from the floor with the aid of the rail and managed to secure the doors before the TARDIS violently shimmied again. She clung to the rail as she looked back to the Doctor. "What's happening?" she yelled to him.

He spun another wheel then used a foot to kick another lever up. "Oh, just trying to avoid being torn apart at a subatomic level!" he replied. "Hold on!" He yanked the same lever down and the ship shifted. He glanced in Martha's direction. She was on her knees now, one arm hooked around the rail as she tried to keep herself and the unconscious young man steady.

Martha gritted her teeth as she held as tight as she could to Dean's body while the ship continued to shimmy and make the most awful noises. A few klaxons blared. A moment later, she could've swore she heard the deep, melancholy toll of a church bell.

The Doctor watched as the data rolled down the main monitor. They were out of control in the actual space travel aspect. Fortunately, the time circuits were not engaged. At least they wouldn't be hurtled to the end of time itself. The end of the _universe_ was a distinct possibility, however.

"Come on, old girl," he encouraged as he punched a few more buttons. "All we've been through, we can't go out like this."

As if responding to the Doctor's words, the ship began to stabilize. Soon, the shaking came to a halt and the klaxons quieted.

Letting out a relieved breath, Martha rested her head on the rail. "Thank you," she whispered, unsure if she meant it for a higher power or the TARDIS itself.

The Doctor stood straight as he shifted his attention to her. "Knew she wouldn't let us down!" he declared as he patted the console. He jumped slightly when it sparked. He moved to the area damaged by the shotgun blast. "Martha, are you all right?"

She lifted her head. "As well as can be expected." She focused her attention on Dean. He had a minor laceration on his forehead, just above his right eye. Nothing too serious. She slipped off her jacket and tucked it underneath his head as a pillow. She'd no torch or penlight on hand but she assessed his condition the best she could.

"And him?" the Doctor asked as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Likely a concussion," she reported as she looked to the Doctor. She'd examined him, went through all of the necessary steps in response to a head trauma, but it wasn't enough. She didn't believe he was in grave danger, still, any injury of this nature wasn't to be taken lightly. "We should return him to Earth as soon as possible."

The Doctor stood straight as the console sparked again. "We'll be landing," he replied. He shifted one of the levers. "But not on Earth." He scanned the flickering screen as he tried to find a suitable planet nearby for them.

"What about him?" Martha gestured to Dean. "This floor isn't doing him any good."

"We'll move him to one of the other rooms, if you're worried about his present condition -" He banged a hand on a panel. "Stop it," he warned.

She sighed as her gaze settled on the Colt which lay a few inches away. Carefully, she picked it up. She'd never held a gun before. Not a proper one, at any rate. Paint pellet gun, air dart gun, even an alien ray gun not long ago, but never a regular one.

"A lot of bother for something so _small_," she commented.

"Hmm?" The Doctor lifted his head. He saw Martha with the gun in one hand as she held it up, closely examining it. "As soon as I've made the repairs, we'll dispose of that and return him where he belongs. If we're lucky, we'll accomplish everything before he regains consciousness. Perhaps he'll believe this was all a dream."

She lowered the gun as she regarded the Doctor, almost baffled. "You'd worry about _this_ rubbish before _him_?" She nodded to Dean. "Is that why you had me stop him? So he wouldn't escape with the key?"

"No, it was for _his_ protection," the Doctor answered as he fiddled with one of the damaged panels on the lower portion of the console. "We were dematerializing. If you hadn't stopped him when you did ..." His voice trailed off as he recalled the tragic incident about three incarnations prior. He blinked then glanced at her again. "You saved his life, Martha, that's what's important."

She bit her lower lip, a bit guilty for her accusation about the Doctor's motivations. She didn't want to ask what might've happened if she hadn't reached Dean in time. Though, with what knowledge she had of the physics surrounding the TARDIS, she could imagine a few outcomes. None of them pleasant.

"Give me a moment, then I'll help you move him," the Doctor continued as he placed the console panel shielding on the floor.

While the Doctor checked on the circuitry in the pedestal, Martha removed the slightly damp kerchief from her jacket pocket then gently cleared away the drying blood from the minor wound on Dean's forehead.

* * *

"DEAN!" Sam lowered his hands as he scanned the wide open area for the fifth time.

He'd searched the entire place in the last ten minutes with absolutely nothing to show for it. He couldn't find his brother anywhere. It was as though Dean had vanished into thin air. The mysterious couple was gone as well. He'd yet to check at the front desk, though he almost knew the woman had lied. If they weren't demons, what were they? Who were they? More importantly, _where_ were they and did they have anything to do with Dean's disappearance? If so, where did they go? For miles in each direction, no one could've ran or walked or driven away without being seen.

Sam reached into his coat pocket and brought out his cell phone. Dean had his with him, he knew. It didn't hurt to try. After he keyed up the number, he waited. Then the message appeared: "User out of area." Out of area? He couldn't be that far away in such a short span of time. It was _impossible_.

He let out a breath as he dropped his arm to his side, his eyes scanned the expanse of land again then he shook his head. As he lifted his cell up, he scrolled through the names until he reached Bobby's. He pressed the button and waited for the man to answer.

* * *

Slowly, Dean's eyes drifted open. He stared, blinking, at the stark white ceiling above him. When he felt something above his right eye, his brow furrowed. A hand raised to discover a gauze bandage firmly taped there. The contact set off a wave of pain, accompanied by a vivid memory – the hot English chick and the surprised look on her face as they tumbled to the floor together. Summoning all of his strength, he propped himself up on his elbows.

He found himself on a simple bed in the middle of a room about eight feet by eight feet in size. Its walls were just as plain and white as its ceiling. On the opposite side was a wooden desk and chair. In the chair, with her back to him, was the woman. She had a book open in front of her. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he groaned as his head pounded. "Jesus Christ," he muttered as he placed a hand to his forehead. He thought for a second he might puke, the pain was that bad.

At the table, Martha suddenly turned when she heard him. When she saw Dean doubled over, she was on her feet in a flash. "What are you doing?" she demanded as she took hold of his upper arms. "You shouldn't be up."

Instinctively, Dean reached for his gun. No matter how hot this chick was, she'd still kidnapped him and stolen the Colt.

"If you're looking for that other gun, you won't find it," Martha stated as she tilted his head back. "The Doctor confiscated it. Considering you almost killed us all with the first, it was a wise decision on his part."

Dean squinted as a small light flashed in his eyes, blinding him. "What the hell are you doing?" he grumbled as he tried to shove her hands away.

"What I'm _trained_ to do," she answered as she pushed his hands down and away from the penlight she held. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit," he muttered. He felt her force each of his eyelids open and then she blinded him again with that goddamn light. "Would you knock it off?"

"Do you have any dizziness?" she inquired, ignoring his continued whinging. She flicked the light off and placed her hands to each side of his face then studied his eyes. "Nausea?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember your name?"

"Dean Winchester."

"What year is it?"

"2007." He jumped a little as Martha held a finger in front of his face. "What are -"

"Follow my finger," she firmly ordered. She moved it from side to side, then up and down. When she was done, she looked him in the eyes. "Who's Prime Minister?"

Dean gave her a look before he flatly replied, "I wouldn't know that anyway."

She sheepishly smiled. "Sorry. Forgot. Who's the President, then?"

"Does it matter?"

She smiled again, this time out of amusement. "You'll be all right," she assured him as she stood straight. "Still, you shouldn't wander about unaccompanied. Not so much because you may further injure yourself as get yourself lost."

"Lost?" He glanced around the small room. "How am I going to get lost in _here_?"

"I meant outside of this room," she said with a sigh. "The TARDIS is rather expansive. Corridors stretch on forever." Martha tucked the penlight into her jacket as she seated herself beside him. "I don't believe even the Doctor knows his way around it completely."

"What's a ... _TARDIS_?" Dean asked as he pressed the heel of a hand to his forehead.

"It's the name of the Doctor's ship."

His hand dropped into his lap as he slid his gaze to her. "His ... _ship_?" he repeated in a low voice. "What, like his _space_ ship?" When she nodded, he laughed. "You're tellin' me that blue box is a space ship? As in, it travels through outer space?" He pointed to the floor. "And all of _this_ is inside of it?"

"Yes. Spatial differentiation. 'It's bigger on the inside' is the easiest explanation."

"That's obvious." He glanced around. "Where's Sam?"

"That the bloke who was with you?"

"My brother. Did you abduct him, too?"

Martha's expression quickly morphed into one of indignation. "Abduct you? _You're_ the one who burst in uninvited!"

"_You_ were stealing stuff outta my car!" he shot back. "I'm supposed to just_ let_ you?" He winced as a searing pain shot through his head. Grimacing, he continued, "What do you know about that gun? Almost everyone who knows about it is some kind of evil."

"We aren't any sort of 'evil'," she defensively replied, her jaw tight as she did. "We were only attempting to destroy it before it could be used again." She rose to her feet.

"If you aren't evil, why did you guys kidnap me?"

"We _did not_ kidnap you!" She let out a frustrated breath as she tried to keep her cool. "Look, the Doctor was _ protecting _ you. If I hadn't have stopped you, you would've been more buggered than you are now."

"Really?" He smirked. "How so?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "Try _dead_," she evenly replied.

Her voice was flat grave. He'd no doubt she'd told the truth just then. After a moment, his irritation returned. "Well, you can turn this thing around and take me back. Sam's probably flipping out." He couldn't believe he was actually buying the "space ship" story. But it couldn't hurt to humor her. Damn shame the hot ones had to be either evil or crazy.

"As much as we'd _love_ to be rid of you, it isn't an option," Martha told him. "Thanks to you and your itchy trigger finger, that is."

"It was an _accident_!" Dean snapped as he stood. He paused as he felt light-headed. When it passed, he focused on her. "The goddamn _room_ moved. I wasn't going to do anything to either of you, no matter how nuts you are."

"We're stuck with one another for a while. So, until the Doctor fixes the console - " She shoved him down into a sitting position on the bed. "Stay there and _don't bloody move_!"

Almost wide-eyed, Dean watched her leave the room and slam the door shut behind her. Damn, she was crazier than he'd originally thought. Spaceships. Did she really expect him to believe that bullshit? He wasn't sure what was going on, but this definitely wasn't any spaceship. They didn't exist. Other than what NASA had.

On the other side, Martha glared at the closed door before she let out one more frustrated breath. Almost every American she'd ever met – not only during her travels with the Doctor – was absolutely aggravating. And thick. This Dean Winchester was easily the most thick of the lot.

Shaking her head, she headed for the console room.

End Chapter Two


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

In his quest to repair the damage done to the TARDIS, the Doctor had taken most of the console itself apart. Sheets of paneling littered the metal-grated flooring, mixed with exposed wiring and bits of rock salt peppered metal he'd removed and discarded. Currently, he was _underneath_ the floor.

The sound of the sonic screwdriver led Martha to the area where he worked. Once she reached him, she squatted at the edge of the open floor grating. The Doctor had a piece of wire threaded between his fingers and the screwdriver clenched between his teeth. "Make any progress?" she asked as he separated the different colored wires from one another. She scanned the mess which had grown exponentially in the three hours since she'd left the room. "It doesn't seem like it. In fact, it looks _worse_."

He removed the screwdriver from his mouth. "The boy made _quite_ a mess of the insides of the old girl," he stated.

"You _did_ make the ship move," she reminded him as he fused two wires together.

"Yes, but that isn't the point." The Doctor disappeared from her sight as he knelt down to scan the screwdriver over another piece of machinery. "How is our guest?"

Martha leaned forward and peered into the hole. "He's awake. He'll be fine physically." She pressed her lips together. "I'm not sure he believed much of what I told him about us, however."

"Oh?" The Doctor glanced up from his work. "What did you tell him?"

"We didn't kidnap him, we only meant well when we took the Colt, and ... we're aboard a spaceship."

"He'll believe soon enough."

"He said his brother would be concerned about him as well." Off of the Doctor's questioning look, she added, "The one who was with him at the motel."

"Ah, yes. Well, he shouldn't worry," he replied as he fused two more wires together. "When I return him, it will be as though he never left." One of the wires sparked and zapped his fingers. He gritted his teeth as he shook his stunned hand.

"Are you all right?"

"Minor jolt," he assured her. He flexed his fingers. "We'll keep him contained until I have this sorted." He grabbed the edge of the floor and, with Martha's help, climbed back onto the main floor.

"And when he demands the return of the key? What then?"

The Doctor paused in his button punching to look at her. "It won't matter. We'll have destroyed it."

"I don't think so."

A voice startled the both of them. They turned to find Dean leaning on the doorway between the console room and the rest of the TARDIS.

"You're not doin' a damn thing except give that gun back and let me go." He staggered towards them.

Martha rushed forward and caught him a split second before he completely lost his balance. She held onto him as she looked to the Doctor, who only went back to work on the console. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed?" she scolded as she focused on Dean. "Come on."

Dean hobbled along, holding onto Martha as she guided him to a seat by the console. He glanced to his left and spotted his 9MM, just inches away from him on the console itself.

"Sit down, before you -" Martha was cut off by Dean pinning one of her arms behind her back. A second later, she felt the barrel of a gun press against her right temple.

"Okay, Doctor ... whoever you are," Dean started as he shoved Martha forward. "You're gonna let me go. _Now_."

The Doctor looked from the gun to Martha's head to Dean himself. "You shouldn't waste my time with empty threats," he simply replied. He stepped around the dismantled console and closer to them. "You and I know you aren't going to harm her."

Dean glanced from the back of Martha's head to the Doctor. "What makes you so sure? You don't know me, what I'm capable of." He tightened his grip on the woman. "Just let me go."

"I promise you, I will," the Doctor calmly said. He motioned to the console. "Once I've sorted this out, I'll gladly return you to Earth. But only after I've destroyed the key."

"We _need_ that gun," Dean insisted.

Martha's gaze flicked from the Doctor to her right hand side. She couldn't see the gun, but she could definitely feel it. She wasn't sure what this man would do. He'd claimed he wouldn't have hurt them, but that was earlier. He was scared _now_. Humans did things they normally would never when scared.

"If you don't want to open the gateway," the Doctor's voice remained very soft and soothing. So much so, even Martha herself noticed it. " ... what possible use could it be to you?

"That's my business," Dean snapped. "Are you gonna do what I'm tellin' you or not?"

The Doctor pretended to ponder it before he shook his head. "No." His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he held Dean's gaze, while he took a few steps closer. "If you would release her, I could resume my work. The sooner I do, the sooner you'll go home."

Dean's hold on Martha eased. His eyes never left the Doctor's. He couldn't explain why he suddenly felt so calm. These people had stolen the Colt, pretty much kidnapped him and wouldn't let him go. Why did he _want_ to believe what this guy said? He hesitated before he lowered the gun.

Martha jerked her arm free as soon as he did and whirled around. "If that isn't a fine 'thank you' to the one who saved your life!"

"You shouldn't be so offended," the Doctor assured her. He took the gun from Dean's hand, aimed at the floor and pulled the trigger. An empty click. He grinned as he withdrew his other hand from his trouser pocket to reveal the clip and a single bullet. "Wasn't loaded."

Martha's eyes narrowed at Dean. He was embarrassed, as he bloody well should've been. She'd done nothing but help him and he tried to use her as a bargaining chip? She gave him a forceful push into the nearby chair. "If you plan on stayin' out here, _sit down_," she snapped.

The Doctor smiled a little. The boy seemed confused more than anything now. He'd used a bit of low-level hypnotism to settle Dean until he could deal with the ship's troubles. It would wear off after a while, so he needed to work as quickly as possible.

Martha looked to the Doctor. "Is there anything I can do to hurry this along? The sooner we're rid of him, the safer I'll feel."

He dropped back down underneath the floor. "You could hand me that bit of wire over there," he answered, motioning to his left.

Martha semi-glared at Dean as she passed him on her way to retrieve the wire for the Doctor. He avoided direct eye contact with her.

Instead, Dean sat back in the chair, uncharacteristically silent as the so-called Doctor tinkered around with his so-called spaceship. His eyes drifted away from them and to the rest of the "ship". It wasn't until then he noted how creepy the place was. Reminded him of _Aliens_, with the organic-ish composition of its walls, as well as the the strange console underneath which the two worked. Then another thought hit him: If this really _was_ a spaceship, that would make them -

"No," he murmured as he shook his head.

Aliens weren't frigging real! Demons, vampires, werewolves, ghosts – _these_ things were real. Aliens? Only on _The X-Files_. And he sure didn't see Mulder or Scully anywhere. What kind of aliens looked human and spoke with British accents? It wasn't possible. Even _thinking_ about it being possible was crazy.

The sound of the console caught his attention. Below, the Doctor had done something with the wires which revived a couple of the things on the panel directly in front of him. One of which was a monitor. Slowly, with a quick glance to make sure they weren't looking, he rose to his feet. As he peered at the screen, he made out symbols scrolling across it, yet nothing about them were familiar. A visual readout of what appeared to be a planet was displayed beside them. None of the land masses resembled Earth's.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the screen. He lifted his head as the Doctor emerged from the floor. "This doesn't look like Earth to me."

"Because it isn't," the Doctor stated as he stepped in front of the monitor. "We're on Thoros Beta." He punched a few of the buttons as he skimmed the information before him. "Been a long while since I've visited this planet." He shook his head. "Seems as though its the same as it was then."

Dean's gaze shifted from the screen to the Doctor. "Maybe I'm still out of it from hitting my head, but are you tellin' me that -" He pointed to the monitor again "- is another planet? And we're on it?"

"Yes."

Martha leaned against the console on the other side of Dean. "As I've tried to explain to you – it's what we do." She smiled a little. "We're adventurers. We travel the stars. Meet new people and different species."

Dean sharply laughed. "You're crazy. The _both_ of you," he added, jabbing a finger at the Doctor. "Space travelers." His gaze shifted back to Martha. "I'm supposed to believe you're aliens who fly around in a weird blue box - which is actually a _spaceship_ - having a grand old time?"

Martha pointed to herself. "I'm not an alien, I'm human. From London, 2008."

He nodded, slowly. "Oh, I see. You're human but you're from the _future_."

"Only a year, but yes. The Doctor, though, he's -"

"Not from around here," he quickly cut in, to Martha's surprise. He saw the expression on Dean's face; it was one he'd encountered so many times before. It baffled him, really. In this day and age, after everything that had happened, humans still had trouble believing in the existence of other lifeforms. "I may appear human, but I most certainly am _not_."

"Right. And we're on another planet, and she's from the future," he finished as he jerked a thumb at Martha. He scoffed. British people were wackier than most. Probably a side-effect from drinking all of that damn tea. "Why don't you let me go and you guys can keep on runnin' from whatever psych ward you escaped from, okay?"

The Doctor lifted an eyebrow as he shifted his curious gaze to Martha. The human ability to deny the obvious was incredible. Apparently, seeing did not equal believing with this one. Here he was, inside of a ship bigger than its outside and he insisted _they_ were the ones who were crazy.

"Perhaps we should show you?" Martha suggested, hopeful. Not only did she want to prove she and the Doctor weren't nutters, but she'd never been to a truly _alien_ planet yet. The exile on Varas slash three six didn't count since the atmosphere wasn't suitable for human beings, and New New York resembled her own planet too much to even _feel_ alien. "Is it safe out there, Doctor?"

"As safe as any planet in the Malas System," he replied. "You'll be fine."

Martha grinned, giddy at the prospect of being on an alien planet which didn't mimic Earth in any respect. "Do you feel up to it?" she asked Dean.

He shrugged. "What the hell?" he non-chalantly answered. "I've never been to the Malas System. Could be fun." The mocking wasn't absent from his tone. He knew what would happen. The doors would open and they'd see whatever crazy nonsense they had in _their_ heads. In reality, they were probably on the other side of town.

Martha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she took him by the arm as she headed for the doors. "You'll see for yourself we're telling you the truth," she said as they walked down the ramp. Again, beneath her irritation, her excitement about what lay beyond the doors surged. "It'll be brilliant."

"Yeah, sure," Dean flatly replied as Martha unlocked the outer set of doors.

The doors opened and Martha's eyes widened in absolute awe of the incredible sight before her.

Thoros Beta _did_ resemble Earth, but only in that it had an ocean, land masses and an expansive sky. However, it was completely different in the details. Across from where the TARDIS had landed was a pure white beach, its sand glimmered almost as brilliantly as diamonds. To the left was an equally dazzling white rock cliff which rose from the beach and up seemingly forever into a stunning blue-green shade of a cloudless sky. Beyond the cliff and beaches was a rolling expanse of reddish grass.

Her gaze shifted to Dean, who was as amazed by the sight as she, but considerably more shocked. He'd not believed them, now the proof was undeniable. Still, she couldn't help but ask, "Do you _finally_ believe we're on another planet?"

He shook his head. Here it was, big as life, yet it was hard for him to accept. Strange for someone who readily believed in the existence of things almost everyone else considered myth. This? This was impossible. Aliens, space ships, and all of that crap. Other planets did not look like this, they were drab as hell. Like Mars.

A shimmering caught his attention and he lowered his gaze to the ground. That's when he – and Martha – realized the TARDIS hadn't settled on solid ground at all. They were more than twenty feet away from the shoreline. Instead of land underneath their feet, it was glistening, nearly neon pink-colored ocean water.

"We're not sinking," he said as he looked from the water to Martha. "How the hell are we not sinking?"

Unsure herself, Martha turned around. "Doctor," she called into the TARDIS. When he looked up, she pointed down. "We're _on_ the surface of the ocean. How can we stand on the ocean and not sink?"

"Oh, different level of gravity, the sodium content of the water itself, things of that sort," he casually replied as he went back to the console. "Wasn't like that the last time I was here, though. Ruined a nice pair of trousers."

"Hey, Doc, is there anything _on_ this planet?" Dean asked as a more practical concern came to mind.

Teeth slightly gritted, the Doctor answered, "The inhabitants are long gone by now. No worries."

"Uh huh." Dean wasn't too sure about "uninhabited". Better to be prepared. "All the same, I'd feel safer if you gave me my gun back, Doc."

The Doctor stood straight before he fully faced the two of them. "And _I'd_ feel safer if I didn't," he stiffly replied. "There isn't anything left on this planet which could pose a threat to you." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "And _don't_ refer to me as 'Doc'."

Martha's gaze flicked from the Doctor to Dean. Neither appeared as though he would back down from his argument. To break the tension, she carefully said, "We won't go any further than the beach. We couldn't run into trouble such a short distance away." She shifted her attention to Dean. "Could we?"

After an uneasy few moments of silence, he looked to her. "We'd better hope not," he muttered.

"If the Doctor says there isn't anything potentially dangerous on this planet, I believe him."

"Why?"

"He hasn't been wrong before." So, she'd fibbed a bit there. She'd obviously done so convincingly enough since Dean appeared to relax, if only a little. A nervous smile appeared on her face. "All right, then?"

The Doctor peered over his shoulder and watched them make their way to the shore. Nothing could possibly harm them here, he was certain of it. And he'd never cared for people questioning his knowledge on any given subject, either. He'd managed to survive this long. Not to mention help others, past companions or not, do the same.

The chirp and beep of another system coming back online caught his attention. He focused his energy on his work. The quicker he had the TARDIS in order, the sooner he and Martha could destroy the key, drop off this troublesome human and go about their business.

On the beach, the view was even more impressive. Against the pink ocean and blue-green sky, the TARDIS seemed like an unsightly grey blotch on an artist's masterpiece. Just beyond it, hanging low on the horizon, was the silvery silhouette of a nearby planet, one with rings similar to those of Saturn.

"It's _gorgeous_ here," Martha murmured as she stopped a few feet down the beach. A light breeze fluttered her open jacket. The slightly different smell of the sea air filled her nose. "In all of the trips we've taken, we've never been to another planet. Well, one which didn't mimic Earth so much it didn't feel like one." She shook her head, still awed. "This ... this is incredible." She turned around. "Don't you think?"

Dean was down on one knee, watching the crystalline sand glimmer as it drained through his fingers. He let his hand drop as Martha crouched beside him. "I _see_ it, but I don't _believe_ it," he replied as he gazed upon the equally glimmering ocean.

She nodded. "It _is_ rather surreal the first time," she admitted as she shifted her own gaze to the TARDIS. The outer doors were still open, she could see movement inside. "I understand how difficult it must be."

He let out a long breath as he shook his head. "That's it – I shouldn't find something like this so hard to believe." He finally looked her in the eye. "I've seen a lot of stuff in my life, most of it bad, but just as unreal as this."

Her brow furrowed in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Even though he had a feeling she would be a person more apt to believe in his work, she was still practically a stranger. And one who'd come after the Colt. He hadn't forgotten that and planned to get a real answer eventually about it. After his lengthy pause, he asked, "Where'd you meet this guy?"

She blinked. "The Doctor?" When he nodded, she went continued. "On the moon." She smiled at his reaction. "Seriously, I met him on the moon. It's a long, complicated story but it's the truth." She sighed. "Been traveling with him ever since."

"You don't have a job or a family back on Earth?" He couldn't believe he'd said that, "back on Earth". If this was the real deal or an elaborate dream, he'd have to roll with it either way. He brushed a hand over the bandage on his forehead. "I've been through enough to know a professional patch-up job. You a nurse?" He'd always had a thing for nurses ...

"No, I'm a doctor." She paused, then smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Medical student, actually. Nearly finished with my studies, though. All of it's on hold for now." She shifted her gaze to the fantastic view again. "And I _do_ have a family. Not exactly _Leave It To Beaver_ but they're there for me."

Dean hadn't pegged her to be _doctor_ material. She looked like a model. A doctor with a model's looks? Maybe he _was_ dreaming. When he realized he'd been staring at her, he flicked his attention to the TARDIS before she could notice. "What about him? What he's a doctor of?"

Martha's head tilted to one side as she gazed upon the blue box. "A bit of everything. Or so he says," she thoughtfully replied. "'Doctor' meant something else on his planet, I think."

He raised an eyebrow. "Meant?"

"Yeah." She saw he waited for some sort of elaboration. "What is it?"

"You said 'meant'. Past tense. Something happen to his planet?"

She stared at him, almost like a deer in headlights. She hadn't thought about it when she'd said it. The fact Dean even picked up on it made her reevaluate her initial assessment of him. He wasn't quite so thick, it seemed. "'Means', 'meant' – what does it matter?" she answered with a casual shrug. Though he appeared to expect an explanation, she kept quiet. It wasn't her place to discuss the fate of Gallifrey and its people with a complete stranger. Instead, she changed the subject. "What did you mean earlier, when you said you'd seen a lot of bad things?"

Apparently he wasn't getting an answer to his question. He stared at the TARDIS as memories of the things that happened nearly a week ago flashed through his mind. Sam's death, his deal with the demon to bring him back, the opening of the Gate, the escape of who knew how many demons ... "It's part of my job," he quietly replied. He rose to his feet. "That's it."

Martha stood as well. "For which you need those things in your boot?"

Despite being fairly certain neither Martha nor this Doctor character were mixed up in the same business as he and Sam, he didn't want to get into it. Weird as they were, it was a different _kind_ of weird. "That thing really travels through space, huh?" he said as he motioned to the box.

Martha followed his gaze to the TARDIS. Whatever his line of work, he didn't want to discuss it. He would have to eventually, if he expected the Doctor to relinquish the Colt to him. Even though she knew he never would. Deciding not to press the issue, she replied, "Not only through space, but it also travels in _time_."

He laughed. "Sure it does. How else would you get here from the future?" He looked to her. "How is 2008, anyway?" It'd be nice to know if his last year on Earth would be a shitty one. Beyond the every day shitty the Winchesters experienced.

"It isn't much different from 2007."

He eyed her. "All right, the space stuff I can believe." He made a grand sweeping motion to their surroundings. "A _time_ machine? That's pushin' it."

"It's all in the name: TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space."

"If it's a time and space ship, why the hell does it look like a Johnny-On-The-Spot? What, he doesn't like the design of the DeLorean?"

She smiled. "The ship is supposed to blend into its surroundings after it lands by means of a chameleon circuit. Unfortunately, the one in the Doctor's TARDIS is damaged. He landed on Earth in 1963 London, the ship took on the form of a police call box. Been like that ever since. Years, he says."

"That's gotta suck," he said with a laugh. He shook his head as he studied the ship again. "What _is_ a 'Police Box', anyway?"

"In earlier years, police used them to keep in contact with their main station. They also doubled as a temporary holding cell for a lone beat officer, until someone could arrive to take the person under arrest away. They aren't very common these days, not even in England."

"And no one notices it? It was sitting in the middle of a field behind the motel. That's something you don't miss."

"Strange as it is, hardly anyone does." She'd never inquired how that was possible. She made a mental note to do so once this was all over. "At any rate, the Doctor doesn't seem to mind it's like that. In fact, I think he fancies the way it looks." Her mouth quirked as she shook her head. "Actually, he fancies the whole ship more than is normal."

"Ah, it's a guy thing," he said as he waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "It's more than just transportation. Chicks don't get that. She takes care of you, makes sure you get back in one piece." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Even if someone rams a Mack truck into you."

Her head shook from side to side, slowly, as she stared at him. "It's disturbing how much you sound like him. Really."

"Like I said, it's a guy thing."

Inside the TARDIS, one of the panels on the console sparked. The Doctor waited before he attempted his reroute again. Once he'd connected the two wires, the entirety of the TARDIS's console chirped and flashed with life. He'd finally managed to get the ship repaired. Or repaired enough to leave Thoros Beta and accomplish his main mission, at the very least.

"_Brilliant_!" he exclaimed as he patted the console. "Absolutely brilliant!"

After he finished fusing the wires, he hauled himself from the hole in the floor and replaced the grating. His grin widened as he walked around the console. The old girl was ready for action once more. After they left Thoros Beta, he would dispose of the key, return the boy to Earth, then forget about the entire mishap. He'd need a holiday at the Eye of Orion now. Glorious peace and quiet!

Still grinning, he drummed his fingers on the monitor which displayed readouts of Thoros Beta itself. "It'll take more than that to put us down," he murmured as he stroked a hand down the screen. "More than 900 years we've been together and we're -" He stopped as the monitor began to flash red. The Doctor clicked a few keys. As the new information scrolled down the screen, his joy was replaced by alarm. "No ..." he whispered.

He shook his head as the TARDIS reached the same conclusion he had mere seconds before. His hands slipped out of his hair as his gaze shifted to the open doors. Martha and the boy were still on the beach, chatting.

The console beeped, insistent on the Doctor's attention. The imminent danger was closer than he thought. He had to do something. _Now_.

"MARTHA!"

End Chapter Three


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Martha turned when she heard the Doctor shout her name. She didn't even need to ask what the trouble was – it was all there on his face. In the sound of his voice. "We have to go," she said in a solemn tone.

"Huh?" Dean looked from the Doctor to her. "What do you mean, we have to go? I thought we were stuck here?" His gaze narrowed on her, suspicious. "Were you lying to me?"

She took him by the arm and pulled him towards the ship. "Hurry!"

He didn't argue and had no choice but to follow. Whatever the problem was, he sure the hell wasn't qualified to handle it or offer any help. Plus, she was pretty damn strong for a woman, the way she half-dragged him along behind her.

"Quickly, Martha!" the Doctor called out from the other side of the console once she and Dean were inside. "We haven't much time!" His hands flew over the controls frantically, but with a very deliberate purpose for each movement. He glanced up as the two humans joined him, yet they kept out of his way while he worked. "We should juuuuuust ... make it."

"What the hell is going on?" Dean asked. He backpedaled as the Doctor side-skipped to the other side of the console.

Hastily, the Doctor gestured to the flashing monitor. They definitely couldn't understand the Gallifreyan language which rolled down the screen before them, but they wouldn't need to. The graphics were clear enough: a sizable white dot was headed straight for the planet of Thoros Beta.

Martha pointed as she looked over to the Doctor. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Oooooh, yes!" he answered as he slammed down a lever. He suddenly grinned, which seemed to put her at ease. The mechanical whir echoed throughout the control room as the TARDIS dematerialized. He tilted his head back and listened to the sound for a few seconds then sprinted to the monitor.

The three of them watched in silence as the small dot slammed into the planet, the result of which caused a massive ripple effect on the screen. The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief when he realized they'd escaped the impact entirely. They were safe. For now.

"Well, that was close!" he announced as he went back to the opposite side of the console. He punched buttons as he began to input a new course.

Dean frowned as he looked from the Doctor to Martha. "Does anyone want to tell me what just happened? Some of us don't do space travel for a livin', you know."

"We barely escaped an asteroid impact on Thoros Beta. Rather sizeable one as well," the Doctor explained as he finished with the course setting. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he stood straight, focusing on Dean. He rocked back and forth on his feet, a smug smile on his face. "_That_ is what just happened."

"So ... the planet's gone?"

Martha looked to the Doctor, just as curious. "_Is_ it gone, then?"

"Oh, not at all!" the Doctor assured them. He waved a hand at the monitor. "The impact was only on the northern hemisphere, where we were. Planet will survive, most definitely." He punched another button and Thoros Beta vanished from the screen. "Rather curious as to where it came from, however. We're light years from the nearest asteroid belt." He frowned, then shrugged, deciding it wasn't worth the bother right then. "Probably the best thing for the planet, ultimately. Perhaps a new form of life will emerge in a few millennia as a result."

"You're _sure_ there wasn't anyone else on that rock besides us?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowing a little on the Doctor.

He peered over the top rims of his glasses. "If there had been lifeforms other than ourselves, I would've saved them," he evenly replied.

Dean folded his across across his chest. "If thing's workin' again, that means I go home. Right?"

The Doctor gestured to the panel in front of him. "I entered the new course setting a moment ago. We should be back on Earth in ... " He paused, nodding his side to side as he did the arithmetic in his head. Finally, he simply shrugged. "Well, it won't be very long," he answered. He saw the expression on Dean's face and smiled a bit. "You shouldn't worry – you _are_ in a time machine. Your brother will never know you were missing."

"What about the Colt?" he asked as he stepped closer to the Doctor. "I don't leave without that gun."

The Doctor heavily sighed as he removed his glasses, then massaged the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "I've already explained this – that key will _not_ return to Earth." He met Dean's hard gaze once again. "There is no negotiation. It stays on this ship."

"I'm sayin' it won't," he said as he poked a finger into the Doctor's shoulder. "And you _don't _want to negotiate with me, Doc. You wouldn't like the way I do it."

Casually, the Doctor brushed a hand over where Dean had jabbed him. "With violence and brute force, no doubt," he murmured. "And I've told you once already ... do _not_ refer to me as 'Doc'."

Dean shrugged. "If it works, you go with it." Then, with a smirk, he added, "Doc."

Before the Doctor could respond, Martha quickly stepped between them, her hands raised almost as though to keep them at bay. "Maybe we should discuss this calmly and rationally?" she suggested. Her eyes shifted from the Doctor to Dean. "If you'd explain to us _why_ it's so important to you, we could sort this out."

"I don't have to explain a goddamn thing. That gun belongs to me." He looked to the Doctor. "And _ you_ stole it."

"We had a good reason. Do you have one for why _you_ should have it back? Other than 'it belongs to you'?"

After he glancing between them, he sighed as he shook his head. "I need it for my job, all right?" He met the Doctor's gaze. "That good enough for you?"

"What sort of job requires the need of a trans-dimensional gate key?"

"We don't want it because it's a key." Dean saw they waited for him to elaborate. He wasn't sure why he was so anxious about explaining his position. One of them was an alien with a frigging time and space ship – how could they not believe what he and Sam did for a living? "The Colt has another use. That's the one we need it for."

"_Another_ use?" Martha repeated. She glanced at the Doctor, who definitely wasn't ready to turn over the Colt based on this answer. "What use would that be?"

"It ... can kill demons. When it has the right ammunition, it can."

Martha, eyes slightly widened, looked back to the Doctor. His reaction was completely different. His was of confusion, not surprise.

"_What_?"

"Demons. The Colt can kill them." He shrugged. It was finally out. Somehow, he felt better that they knew the truth. "That's what I do. What Sam and I have done since we were kids, pretty much. We hunt demons. And vampires, werewolves, ghosts ... whatever else needs to be dealt with." He met Martha's stunned gaze. "That's what the stuff in the trunk is for – we're hunters."

She only continued to stare at him, gobsmacked. She didn't know why it amazed her so, especially after she'd seen countless fantastical things since she'd met the Doctor. But this, this was decidedly different than those experiences. Demons? Vampires? Ghosts? They weren't real. Then again, she'd not believed in the possibility of someone such as the Doctor until the past year or so.

"Can I have it back now?" Dean asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

After a pause, the Doctor spoke. "What do you mean, you _hunt_ Daemons?"

"You're tellin' me an alien with a spaceship doesn't know what a demon is?" Dean asked. He'd seen the look enough in his time, the utter disbelief. The "are you friggin' crazy?" look. Yet there was something ... different about the Doctor's reaction. "You know ... evil sons of bitches, from the pit of Hell? Possess people, cause trouble?"

"Yes, I'm well aware of the human mythology behind them but ... what you're saying is absolutely impossible."

"More impossible than_ this_?" He made grand sweeping gesture to the console room. "Hey, I believed _your_ story. Why can't you believe mine?"

"Doctor?" Martha prompted when he only stood there, almost gaping at Dean. "What is it?"

"The Daemons are no longer on Earth, they haven't been for more than 30 years. In fact, they are quite extinct in this dimension," the Doctor firmly stated. "The only way they could be back is if others escaped while that gateway was open."

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you thinking of the same demons I am?"

"The Daemons are an alien race who came to Earth many millennia ago. True, they are the basis for the demon myths found in all human cultures today. They are incredibly powerful, and that gun would be utterly useless against even one of them."

"Demons are actually aliens from _another planet_?" When the Doctor nodded, Dean laughed. "Get the hell out. Are you serious?"

"Yes," he replied, annoyed Dean didn't appear to take _him_ seriously. "The Daemons influenced humanity since before the beginning of written history on your planet. The myth of Hell is one of the many human creations used to explain their existence. They are most certainly aliens, from the planet Daemos."

His smile faded. "You're really not kidding me, are you?"

"I wouldn't ... _kid _about another alien species. Especially one as powerful and dangerous as the Daemons. In fact, every supposedly supernatural being is alien in origin."

His eyes narrowed at the Doctor. "Wait - _every_ one is ... an alien?"

"Every single one." His features twisted up as he considered it. "Weeeeell, mostly, at any rate."

He laughed, uneasily. Neither the Doctor nor Martha faltered, though. They honestly believed it. "Demons are aliens from a planet called Daemos, this is what you're tellin' me?"

Suppressing the urge to let out a frustrated sigh, the Doctor's jaw tightened as he nodded. "Yes." Why couldn't anyone trust him when he stated pure fact?

"Okay. So vampires, what are they? _Who_ are they, I guess is what I should be askin'."

"There are actually two common explanations behind vampires."

"Really?" Dean folded his arms across his chest. "Hit me with'em then, Doc. I can't wait to hear this."

"One lot, they're not alien, but human in origin," he explained as he locked his hands together behind his back. "Haemavores. They are the end result of human evolution in a possible far future, caused by millennia of exposure to dangerous pollutants. Their presence on Earth in recent times is due to a time rip caused by an old nemesis of mine. Thought it would be quite amusing to unleash them on their less ... vicious ancestors. I'd figured they would've gone extinct by now. It seems I'm wrong." He pointed a finger at Dean, raising an eyebrow. "That doesn't happen often, mind you."

Martha didn't know about the Haemavores, but she did know of an alien being which was similar. "The other would be the Plasmavore? Like the one we met on the moon, yes?"

The Doctor snapped his fingers, grinning broadly at her. "Exactly! The Plasmavores survive on the hemoglobin of most any other species. And I _do_ know they're at work on the Earth these days."

The Doctor had two pretty good stories, but he couldn't bullshit him forever. He'd catch him on something. "What about werewolves?"

"Lupine wavelength haemovariforms. I've met two in my travels. Each instance spawned very different outcomes."

"A _what_?"

"Lupine wavelength haemovariforms." Dean's expression remained blank. After a sigh, the Doctor added, "An alien lifeform, we'll simply leave it at that."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Okay, a wavelength whatever the hell it is. Why don't you explain ghosts to me, then? There's no friggin' way _they_ are aliens. Not a chance." He knew of anything of the supernatural, the Doctor would never be able to double-talk his way out of that one.

"Most are beings from Null-Space."

"What the hell is Null-Space?"

"Null-Space. It's another universe separate from this one, where every living creature from our universe has an alternate form, or N-form. Except Time Lords," he replied. "Upon the death of an individual, their dead N-form leaves N-Space to a higher plane, rather like traveling up a tunnel of light. Their negative emotions are left behind to become monstrous beings."

Dean wasn't convinced. "Really?"

"Occasionally, after trauma or when an individual cannot accept their own death, this N-form remains in torment, and thus N-Space is the home of much evil and suffering. Some may refer to it as a version of Hell."

"Whatever these N-Space beings are, they ain't aliens."

"Yet they aren't _human. _And, if you'll remember, I said '_mostly_'," he added, more than a bit annoyed. "At any rate, N-forms desire souls for sustenance and some times escape through flaws in the N-Space barrier into our universe, where they relive out the last moments of their life as a so-called 'ghost'."

"We have a name for that in my line of work, Doc. It's a 'death echo'. I don't buy that ghosts are negative feelings of weird beings in some alternate dimension called N-Space, either." If he didn't know better, he _might've_ believed it, sure. The explanation was pretty convincing, and the Doctor seemed certain of what he said. On the other hand, Dean had seen too much. Fought too much.

"Well, no, not all of them," the Doctor replied. "Some have been impressions of beings from parallel dimensions, weak forms leaking through cracks between this one and another."

"The Cybermen, from last year," Martha said. She frowned as she realized something. "Actually, that'd be right now, wouldn't it? What happened?"

He nodded. "Relative to when we ... acquired our friend here, yes, it's _just_ happened. Perhaps a week ago." His brow furrowed as he shifted his attention to Dean. "Didn't you witness any of that, then?"

"Witness any of _what_?"

"The Cybermen? Men made of metal, millions of them all over the world, nearly destroyed the Earth?"

Slowly, Dean shook his head. "No."

"_Really_? It would've been almost impossible to miss."

"We were kinda busy with our own problems a week ago. None of them involved metal men from another dimension invading the planet."

"Huh." The Doctor scratched the back of his head as he looked to Martha. "Don't know how anyone could've not noticed _that_."

"We didn't, all right?" Dean snapped, gaining the Doctor's attention. "Is that the end of the ghost explanations?"

"Actually, no. There was the thing in Perivale in 1983. Completely different alien being, but an alien being all the same. Then, a properly controlled and concentrated source of psychokinetic energy can create psychic projections of people, commonly mistaken for so-called 'ghosts'." A thoughtful expression crossed The Doctor's features. "Oh, and the Gelth. An alien race who used a time rift to slip into our world while _pretending_ to be ghosts."

Eyes narrowed, more suspicious than ever, Dean asked, "You have _proof_ to back up all of this? I've seen more than enough to know this ain't little green men or whatever else causin' trouble."

"To the uneducated, it would seem that way." The Doctor approached the console and punched a few buttons on the main panel.

"Are you callin' me stupid?"

The Doctor peered over the top rims of his glasses. "There's a distinct difference between someone who is stupid and someone who simply isn't aware of the facts," he stated. "For all of your obvious faults, I wouldn't place stupidity among them."

"Gee, thanks a lot, Doc," he flatly replied.

He inwardly winced at the shortening of his title, despite his continued requests against it. He was now convinced Dean did it merely to annoy him.

"Isn't it possible there _may_ be more to it than just aliens?" Martha inquired as she joined the Doctor. She glanced at Dean. "He does rather strongly believe in what he's experienced."

"Weeeell," the Doctor started as he looked up to them. "There _are_ more simple and scientific explanations for such strange encounters." He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Strong electromagnetic fields have been proven to cause hallucinations in humans. Most 'hauntings' occur in old buildings composed of stone. EM fields are generated by the stones rubbing together."

"I've seen ghosts in modern day buildings. Even in the middle of _ nowhere_," Dean defensively said.

"EM fields aren't the _only_ source of these disturbances. Infrasonic sound waves can elicit similar reactions, at the correct frequency."

"Your sonic screwdriver produces such waves, right?" Martha remembered how he'd used the device to stop Dr. Lazarus.

"Yes, to a limited extent," he confirmed. "Reactions to infrasonic sound range from uneasiness to nervousness, feelings of revulsion or fear, chills down the spine and even feelings of pressure on the chest. This is all quite common knowledge on most planets beyond Earth."

Stepping forward, Dean held up his hands. "All right – I've heard enough of _your_ version of things. Let me tell you mine. No vampire or werewolf or demon I've met mentioned anything about being aliens or from the future. You'd think they'd know where they came from."

"Not necessarily," the Doctor said as he continued to hit keys. "So many of them have forgotten their origins. The Daemons you've allegedly encountered are a perfect example." He looked to the humans. "Any still on Earth wouldn't remember its true origin. They've become so intertwined with the mythos man created for them that they've become ... '_demons_'. It's why they react to things such as religious icons. Their own superstition rules them now. The same can be said for werewolves, vampires, etc. and so on."

"You may believe that, but I don't."

He motioned to the monitor. "Why not have a look for yourself, then?" He stepped back, hands his in pockets, as both Martha and Dean moved closer to the screen. The Gallifreyan language was replaced by English. The first entry the Doctor had pulled up from the TARDIS memory banks was on the Daemons.

As Dean read through the information on the screen, the history of the race, he couldn't believe it. Or he didn't _want_ to. Everything he'd known demons to do, what they were capable of in his experiences, it was within the power of these ... aliens. Possession, all of it.

Martha looked from the screen to him. His whole outward manner was different. He appeared as he'd been punched in the face. She couldn't help but feel somewhat sorry for him. To have everything he'd ever believed in proven to be completely wrong? Her attention shifted back to the screen as it flicked to the next entry.

For almost ten minutes, Dean read page after page of detailed information on vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and witches, along with countless explanations for the power of magics like voodoo. Everything he'd known from the time he was four years old the Doctor's computer had a logical, scientific explanation for. The mystery of the world around them had been stripped away. Nothing was what it seemed. They'd been fighting ... _aliens_ all of these years? After they'd laughed off the possibility themselves, even though other supernatural stuff was acceptable?

The Doctor, now reclined in one of the seats near the console, lifted an eyebrow when both humans turned to him. He saw the indescribable expression on Dean's face. And the more sympathetic one on Martha's. Usually, he took satisfaction in putting myth and disinformation to rest with science and fact. This time, he didn't. In essence, he'd effectively shattered this boy's entire existence.

"Are you all right?" Martha softly asked as she placed a hand on one of Dean's shoulders. She wasn't sure how to feel herself. The news had upset him, to say the least. He appeared crushed, definitely not the same man he'd been a half an hour before. And the Doctor only sat there, with an indecipherable look on his face. Was he happy? Pleased? Regretful? "Dean?"

Dean snapped out of his trance when Martha said his name. She looked up at him, almost sadly. "I ... I don't know," he murmured.

"Why don't you sit down?" She jerked her head, indicating for the Doctor to move. Once he did, she helped Dean practically collapse into the empty seat. "Are you all right?" she asked again. When she received no answer, she looked to the Doctor.

He merely shrugged his shoulders in response. It was necessary, he'd told himself. If destroying the false beliefs of one person kept the key off of Earth, so be it. Whatever alien species, if any, escaped the Gate, he'd have to be prepared to deal with them, should they decide create problems. He didn't have time to worry over Dean's personal issues.

He noticed Martha still stared at him. She nodded her head and mouthed for him to leave. He glanced at Dean then shoved his hands in his pockets. "Right, then," he said then cleared his throat. He backed away from the console, headed for the door which led to the rest of the TARDIS' rooms. "I, uh, have a few things to sort out. Martha, you'll watch over here for a bit?"

"Yes," she replied, then waved a hand. Once he was gone, she focused on Dean. He continued to blankly stare at the floor. She pressed her lips together as she sat down beside him, unsure of how to handle the situation. "If I'd have known, I wouldn't have asked you. I _am_ sorry."

He lifted his head. Martha's face was filled with guilt as well as concern. "It's not your fault," he quietly said. "It's ... all of these years Sam and I have done this job, it wasn't what we thought it was. Everything's different now."

"Not necessarily." When he looked to her, she continued. "You've done your job successfully this long, haven't you?" He nodded. "All of the knowledge you had prior to now, it's just as valid. So they're alien in origin." A shrug. "Nothing else has changed."

"What are you talkin' about, how's it _not_ changed?" he asked, confused. "He just told me none of it was real, not in the way I thought it was. Or anyone else in our line of work."

"Before this, you were able to use your knowledge to stop these ... demons and such, yes? Even though the origins are not what you'd believed them to be, your methods are still effective."

Dean leaned back in the chair. "What's the friggin' point?" He rubbed his forehead with a hand, more out of stress than his injury. "It's _not_ the same. We thought that Gate was the Gate to Hell, not some ... other dimension full of ... aliens." His hand dropped to his lap as he looked to her. "You don't know what we've been through, what's happened to us since we were kids. Our lives are based on this stuff."

"It still _can_ be," Martha replied. "Obviously, the Doctor was right about their superstitions ruling them." She leaned over, trying to make him look her in the eye. "There _is_ a point. You don't have to stop what you're doing."

Dean stood, his back to her. "It nice ... what you're tryin' to do, Martha." He gaze traveled around the expansive console room. "We thought we had a good idea of what was going on, then it turns out they're _aliens_." He faced her. "Aliens who think they're demons. Who knows what they're gonna do with these new ones in our world? What if they _do_ remember what they are?" He paused. "What Sam and I know, it might be as useless as the Colt. Then what?"

"The Doctor can help," she answered as she rose to her feet. "It's what he does." She took a step closer. "When we return to Earth, maybe we could -"

"It doesn't matter," he cut in. "It's still different, if the Doc offers to help us out or not."

She frowned. She hadn't known him very long, but he didn't strike her as a sort who would give in so easily. He'd walked into the unknown with only a shotgun to retrieve something he thought would help defeat evil. "I can't believe you'd simply quit because the details have changed."

He faced her. "Look, you don't understand, we -"

Suddenly, without any type of warning, the TARDIS jolted. Dean and Martha lost their footing and fell against the console, which sparked as several lights flashed like mad.

"You okay?" Dean asked as he helped Martha to stand straight. She nodded. "What the hell's goin' on?"

Before she could even begin to guess, the ship jerked again and threw them back into the seats.

"_Doctor!_"

End Chapter Four


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The Doctor - confused, concerned and more than a little aggravated - re-entered the console room. He'd only managed three steps before the ship violently shimmied and forced him to grab onto the wall for support. The TARDIS sounded as though she were in agony, and it went straight through him like a knife's blade, so closely the two were linked. "What did you _do_?" he shouted over the rumbling and howling. As he reached the console, he pitched forward and barely managed to brace himself before his head smacked into it.

"We didn't _do_ anything!" Dean snarled. He tightly held onto Martha, so she wouldn't be thrown from the seat. He had his other arm locked around the back of it. "It just started up, for no reason!"

"Don't be daft. Of _course_ there's a reason!" the Doctor snapped as he studied the readouts. His eyes narrowed as he saw what was going on with the ship. "We've entered the time vortex." He hadn't programmed this into the TARDIS. He pounded a hand on the monitor, like it would alter the data it relayed. "That isn't possible!"

"How did it happen if it's not possible?" Martha shielded her eyes as the panel closest to Dean and her spit sparks in their direction.

"I must've missed something." He dashed to the panel which had shorted a second before and threw down a lever. He looked to them, the grave expression Martha knew all too well on his face. "We have to land. Whenever, wherever."

"_Then do it!_" Dean yelled.

The Doctor shot a brief glare over his shoulder then focused on the ship. Once he'd finished punching a few buttons on the panel in front of him, he yanked the nearby lever up. After he did the TARDIS steadied as the familiar whirring of rematerialization echoed throughout the room. After it faded, he stood straight, with his head tipped back. He waited, then he smiled. "There!" he brightly said. "Still in one piece!" He rubbed his hands together. "Let's find out where we are!"

As the Doctor turned back to the console, Dean narrowed his eyes at the back of his head. "This ship of yours is about as safe as a Pinto, Doc," he muttered.

He gritted his teeth before he proceeded to deal with the problem at hand.

"You okay?" Dean asked as he helped Martha to steady herself on her feet.

"That's my line," she told him with a smile. "I'm fine." She shifted her gaze to the Doctor, who continued to read the screen in front of him. "And, yes, we're _both_ fine, Doctor. Thanks for your concern," she added, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

He turned at the waist the he glanced from Dean to Martha. "Yes, it's quite obvious you are," he plainly replied. He motioned to the console. "What _isn't_, though, is how this happened."

Martha rolled her eyes. "Don't worry," she assured Dean as the Doctor turned away. "He's always like this. Acting like an - "

"_Asshole_?"

The Doctor, eyes narrowed, peered over his shoulder. After a pause, he went back to work.

"I was going to say 'alien'," Martha dryly commented as she folded her arms across her chest. "But, sometimes, that works as well," she added in a low voice.

"Ah, yes!" the Doctor's voice caught their attention. "We're on Earth."

Martha joined him. "Something isn't right, though."

He sighed. "We're not in the correct year. It's 1989." He ran a hand through his hair. "In Evansville, Oklahoma."

"Did you say '_Evansville_'?"

"Yes." He raised an eyebrow, noting the change in Dean's expression and manner upon the realization of where they were. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head as he held up his hands. "Oh, no," he quickly replied. "Nothing's wrong."

He studied Dean a few seconds before he said, "We'll be here for a bit. Until I'm able to sort out what's happened to the TARDIS."

"How long do you think it will take?" Martha asked as she watched the Doctor yank up the nearby floor grating.

"Honestly, I couldn't say." He dropped below the floor of the console room and then knelt down to study the wiring. Nothing seemed bothered on the surface. "Could be five minutes, could be five days."

"Five _days_?" she and Dean exclaimed in unison.

"What the hell are you talkin' about, five _days_?" Dean added, more annoyed than Martha. "I can't be gone for five friggin' days. There's no tellin' what Sam'll do."

Not fazed by the forcefulness of Dean's response, the Doctor merely continued in the adjustment of the settings on the sonic screwdriver. "You needn't be concerned," he evenly stated. He peered over the top rims of his glasses. "I _am_ a Time Lord. It's our business, Time. We've been its masters for ages."

He snorted. "You could've fooled me, Doc. You have a time and space ship which barely works."

"If you'll remember, _you_ are responsible for our current situation," the Doctor casually replied. He scanned the screwdriver over a section of wire he'd redone on Thoros Beta. "The construction of the TARDIS has absolutely _nothing_ to do with you and your trusty rifle."

He smirked. "If you guys can't even build a ship that'll handle a shot of rock salt, my opinion of Time Lord technology just hit the shits," he scoffed in reply. "My _car_ could take it better than this piece of junk."

"_Junk_?" the Doctor exclaimed as he jumped to his feet, eyes narrowed. "You'd refer to my ship as '_junk_' in comparison to that product of substandard American motor design?"

"What did you just say -"

Holding up her hands, Martha stepped between Dean and the hole in the floor where the Doctor was. "Why don't we let the Doctor get things sorted here?" she cut in as she looked from one to the other. "We're on Earth, so we know it isn't dangerous. We could leave for a while, take a walk - " And cool off, she wanted to add, but chose not to. "Maybe the ship will be fixed by the time we get back?" She waited a few seconds. "How's that sound?"

Dean flicked his attention to the Doctor. He was _so_ close to punching the son of a bitch straight in the face. He didn't care if the Doctor was some super-advanced alien in a crappy spaceship - he was still a smart-ass. And no one insulted his car. _No one_. "Fine," he tightly said. "Been itchin' to get offa this thing for more than five minutes, anyway."

Martha relaxed as Dean walked toward the main doors of the ship. Crisis averted. For now. The sooner Dean and the Doctor were permanently apart, the better. She looked to the Doctor. "We won't go too far," she assured him.

"Be careful, Martha," he said in a low voice.

"Why?"

"He knows this town."

She then realized what he'd implied. "You think there may be an alien presence here?"

"Highly probable. Just ... be extremely careful."

She nodded. "Right."

"What was_ that _about?" Dean asked when Martha joined him.

"He reminded me not to go too far from the ship. He could have it repaired sooner rather than later, you know," she answered with a smile. Even though he didn't appear to believe her, she opened the outer doors and a rush of hot air hit the both of them like a tidal wave.

Outside, it was rather what she'd expected it to look like. The TARDIS had landed beyond the actual town - which they could see on the horizon - and in the middle of an expansive field of flowing green grass. It was speckled with the trademark red dirt and trees were scattered across the landscape. North of the town, she barely made out a pale white two-level farmhouse. As she shifted her gaze to Dean she noticed he stared at the very same structure.

"What is it?"

"Huh?"

She raised an eyebrow when he looked to her.

"It's nothing. It's ... I haven't been here in a while." He paused then added, "Sorta." His attention shifted back to the town to the east of where they were currently. "'89 was actually when I was here last."

"Why was that?"

He glanced at her. "Doesn't matter now." He stepped out of the TARDIS and continued to scan the horizon. Evansville was about fifty miles from any major city. Where they were, they should be safe; they seemed to have landed in someone's back 40.

Martha removed her jacket and tossed it over the nearby railing before she followed. As she closed the doors, she cast one last look back to the Doctor. He sat on the floor, legs dangled over the edge of the hole, as he removed one of the lower panels from the console base. She hoped he sorted out the problem soon. Dean's cryptic responses about the place did nothing to settle her anxiety.

"Did you live here then?" Martha asked as she and Dean neared the outskirts of the small town. "In the '80s, that is?"

They'd walked for almost twenty minutes in complete silence. Every time she glanced at him, his eyes were riveted to the farmhouse to the north. It was a little more defined at this distance, quite obvious no one lived in the place these days. She had to find out why he was so interested in it. 'He knows this town ...' The Doctor's words wouldn't leave her head.

"No," he murmured in response, without even glancing in her direction.

"Somethin' special about that house?" She nodded to the place when he finally did look at her. "You've been staring at it since we left the ship."

"It's not important," he muttered. He didn't want to talk about the Churchill house. Not now, not _ever_.

She frowned and decided not to press the issue. Whatever it was, it was obvious it bothered him. 'He knows this town.' Was there some alien presence here? In that particular house? What had it manifested as? A Daemon? Something else? She certainly couldn't force him it out of him. But if he ever chose to discuss it with her, she would more than willingly listen.

When she didn't ask another question, Dean relaxed, relieved she'd let it drop. What happened there all of those years ago, it still bothered him. John Winchester almost died in that house.

"Terribly hot here," Martha commented, breaking the awkward silence. She dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, to clear away the beading sweat. "I don't think it's ever been this hot in London."

"Welcome to summer in Middle America," Dean flatly said. He hadn't really noticed the heat himself. Probably because he was used to it. Martha, though, seemed as though she could use a break. "There's a diner in town," he went on. "We can stop, if you want to."

She nodded, visibly grateful. "Just for a bit."

Evansville, Oklahoma, was like a thousand other small towns Dean Winchester had been in and out of through the course of his life. A lone speck of civilization in the panhandle section of the state, a place not famous for anything to anyone. Unless the person happened to be a hunter. For them, the town was _infamous_. The mystery every newbie tried to solve his first week on the job: exactly what is haunting the Churchill House?

In the town itself, no one gave Dean or Martha a second glance as they strolled down the sidewalk. Styles hadn't changed much in the past twenty years, especially not in places like Evansville. Dean's clothes were timeless here. Martha, on the other hand, appeared more fashion-forward. Still, it wasn't anything which couldn't be dismissed as soon as she opened her mouth. Everything was a little off in England. Or so most Americans thought, Dean included.

The small diner was located on the town's version of high street, along with every other shop one could possibly require in a place like this. To Martha, Evansville was interesting. The country villages in England weren't like it at all. Rustic in their own ways, to be certain, but Evansville had a decidedly more frontier feel. A few steps shy of being a classic Hollywood representation of the Old West. Only the paved streets, minor renovations to the buildings and modern cars ruined the effect.

She looked to Dean. He wasn't comfortable here, it was obvious. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he quickly lied without even a side-glance to her. "So you can stop askin'." Actually, he _hated_ this frigging town. Only the extreme desire to get the hell away from the Doctor for a while overrode his loathing of it. Everything was like it was when he'd been there last. Exactly. Of course it was – it was 1989. _Again_.

"Dean!"

He went rigid when a familiar voice shouted his name. It sent a strange chill right down to his core. For a moment, he thought he might've imagined it. It _couldn't _be. No, it definitely couldn't be. Being in this town, during this year and the summer, and having what had happened there so fresh in his mind, that was it. Still, the curiosity had the better of him. Slowly, he turned in the direction in which the voice had originated. His eyes widened. For a second, he couldn't even breathe. Across the street, standing beside the red-dirt caked black Impala, banged and bandaged up, was his father.

And John Winchester seemed to look squarely at _him_.

"Dad?" he whispered, not realizing he'd spoken aloud.

Martha followed Dean's gaze across the street. She found the same black car from the motel carpark. A tall, dark-haired man stood by the boot, which he closed now. "That's your father?"

"Yeah," he quietly answered. "He's younger, but that's him. And he's alive." Looking away, he mirthlessly chuckled as he shook his head. "Of _course_ he's alive - this is 1989. Before ..."

"_DEAN!_"

His head snapped up, surprised, when John shouted again, more forcefully. Did he _know_ him? It wasn't possible. How could he recognize him now, almost 20 years older than what he was then? He intended to get an answer. Before he could take more than two steps, Martha grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?" he snapped.

In the next moment, two boys, the older one holding the younger one's hand as he practically dragged him along behind, carelessly brushed by Martha in a hurry.

"Sorry, lady!" the younger boy called over his shoulder. The other impatiently guided him as they both crossed into the street and stopped when they finally reached John.

Dean blinked as it dawned on him – that was Sam. A six-years-old Sam, but it was his brother all the same. The other kid was – obviously - _him_. Suddenly, he felt extremely stupid. His head bowed and he hoped Martha couldn't see his face. For brief moment, he'd actually believed his father knew who the hell he was.

Martha shifted her gaze to the scene across the street. John Winchester appeared to be lecturing the boys, and he wasn't happy. Though, the younger version of Dean appeared to take the brunt of the scolding, while the other boy was rather oblivious. He was more interested in something on display in the bookshop window next to where the car was parked. She wondered exactly what was being said.

"He told me not to wander off," Dean murmured, as if he could read Martha's thoughts. Across the street, Sam pointed to the book store's window, interrupting the ass-chewing his 10-year-old self was getting from their father. John motioned to the car then, dejected, Sam obeyed. "For us, nowhere was safe. Definitely not a town like this one."

Martha shifted her gaze to John just as he grabbed the young Dean by an arm, keeping him behind as Sam slid into the backseat of the car. Once the door closed, his father continued to lecture him.

Almost like it was yesterday, he could hear his father's voice and everything he'd said. In no uncertain terms, he'd explained that Dean had to be more careful with Sam. In a place like Evansville, _everyone_ was a potential threat. This was Dean's job when he wasn't around – to watch over Sam, to keep him safe, to make sure nothing _ever_ happened to him.

Martha looked up to Dean's profile. Perhaps, she thought, he was on the verge of crying. Or maybe it was something even worse. It was difficult to tell at her angle. And his expressions were difficult to decipher, much like the Doctor's. "Dean?" she dared to say.

"It's not fair," he grumbled as his hands balled into fists at his sides. Everything flooded back to him - how he'd felt when he learned John had given up his life to save him, what he and Sam had gone through since then, without their father, and how goddamn angry it made him feel. Even if he'd never say as much aloud. Then that night. When he couldn't do a damn thing except watch Sam _die_ right in front of him. "It shouldn't have happened." His voice harder as he spoke now. "None of it should've."

"What shouldn't have happened?"

His hands relaxed as he made his decision. Resolve replaced the sadness and subdued rage on his face. "I won't let it happen again," he coolly said as he shook his head. "I can stop it. This is my chance to do something about it. I can tell him ... everything. Things will be different then. The way they _should_ be."

When she realized what he was about to do, Martha seized one of his arms with both of her hands. "You _can't_ talk to him!"

"Why the hell not?" He tried to pry her fingers loose but she was a hell of a lot stronger than she looked. "Don't you get it? I can stop it!_ All of it_!"

"You can't bugger with your own timeline," she firmly stated, her grip tighter than ever. "The Doctor made it quite clear early on in our travels you _can't _- "

"I don't give a great goddamn what _he_ says!" Dean shot back. When he heard the low rumble of the Impala driving away, his head whipped around. John was leaving. He could only watch, helpless, as the car slipped farther down the main street. "_Dammit_!" he swore as he narrowed his eyes at Martha. "I could've warned him! I could've stopped him! It would've been different!"

"Exactly _how_ would it have been different?"

"Sam wouldn't have _died_!" he angrily replied without thinking. He stood there, his gaze locked with hers. Her expression morphed from confusion to shock then back to confusion again. It'd been said, he couldn't unsay it. And he knew what the inevitable next question would be -

"What do you mean, he wouldn't have died? I thought he was with you at the motel?"

Dean averted his gaze. "Before that, he was dead."

"Clinically dead?"

"Yeah," he almost whispered with a nod of his head. "For almost two days."

Her brow furrowed, the confusion turning to disbelief. The more logical centers of her mind taking over as her medical training defied the information given to her. "No," she firmly said as she shook her head. "No one could revive from being dead for that long. The damage to the brain alone would make it utterly imposs -"

"I sold my soul to a demon to bring him back," Dean cut in. There was no emotion at all in his voice when he spoke. He hesitated before he finally looked at her. She was stunned. "I traded my soul for his life. This time next year, I'm dead. That was the deal and I took it."

Her jaw was half-open, as though she _wanted_ to speak, but couldn't find the words to respond. She couldn't even find the breath to help _create_ the words to respond. Instead, she did the only thing she _could_ do - stare at him, gobsmacked.

* * *

Back at the TARDIS, the Doctor flicked off the sonic screwdriver and placed it beside him. He examined the wiring underneath the floor, followed it to where it connected to the console then sighed as he shook his head. It made no logical sense. Why had the circuits engaged? Why did they enter the time vortex? _Everything_ had a logical explanation. This, though, was a mystery. The Doctor didn't like mysteries, especially ones he couldn't quickly sort out.

"What's the trouble, old girl?" he murmured as he sat on his heels. He tilted his head back and waited. "I don't understand what's happened. Wouldn't want to help out, would you?" He waited again, then stood and climbed up onto the main floor. "Never hurts to ask," he finished with a heavy sigh.

As he sat on the main floor, his back against the base of the console, he gazed around the room. He'd been at this for nearly half an hour with no success. Truthfully, they weren't "stuck" in 1989 or even trapped on Earth. He simply didn't want to chance time travel when he'd no idea what had caused the problem. What if it randomly entered the vortex again? They could end up at the beginning of time. Or, worse yet, at the _end_ of it.

Running a hand through his hair, he let out a long breath as his gaze dropped to the floor beside the seats. He'd draped his trenchcoat over the back of one of them on Thoros Beta. During the excitement, however, it had fallen to the floor. He pulled it to him then reached into the left pocket and removed the Colt. As soon as he touched the piece, he felt the strange pulsating sensation. A frown spread across his face. "What _is_ that emission you're giving off, then?" he wondered.

Getting an idea, he hopped back down to the lower level and retrieved his screwdriver. Once he had it, he readjusted the settings and scanned the Colt. When he finished, he punched a few keys at the TARDIS control panel. A schematic of the gun, along with several readings, appeared on the monitor. His brow furrowed when he saw the results.

"_Impossible_," he whispered. His gaze settled on the Colt resting on the console near the keyboard. "How could _that_ have been fashioned into an Earth weapon during the early 1800s?" His hand hovered over the gun, as though he were afraid to touch it. "Distortion wave patterns like this ... it _couldn't_ be."

He hit another button. No, something wasn't right. He ran the tests a second time, to be sure. Suddenly, he stood straight as the TARDIS computers relayed the exact same data as before. The boy was right - it was _more_ than a transdimensional gate key. And it did possess the ability to destroy a number of alien species. But only if the wave pattern was aligned and focused (which it currently _wasn't_, thankfully) and that wasn't easy to accomplish. When in proper working order, the weapon's power was absolutely terrifying. With this gun, its wielder could even kill a Time Lord.

_Permanently_.

End Chapter Five


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

On the opposite side of the small booth table, Martha blinked once Dean finished his story. She was absolutely stunned by the sad, and often tragic, tale which began when he was simply a small child with the loss of his mother. What followed was the obsession his father developed with the 'demon' who'd murdered her, and two children exposed to every horrific, evil being imaginable, never having the chance for innocence. Until then, she'd not understood why she saw the same emptiness of the Doctor's eyes in his.

Dean, however, never looked away from the empty water glass clutched within his hands. Usually, he would've felt better after this; explaining to the uninitiated exactly _what_ was out there, lurking in the shadows. Today, he wasn't so sure of what was out there himself. Some alien race so far out of touch with its own history, it thought it was a demon or a vampire or a ghost ...

"Just occurred to me: an _alien_ owns my soul." He softly snorted as he met her gaze. Apparently, she didn't find it as amusing as he did. "Maybe I'll just go to another dimension when I die?" He paused as he considered it. "That might not be so bad." His mouth quirked. "Or it could be like _Event Horizon_."

"There must be a way to free yourself from this ... _deal_," Martha firmly stated once found her voice. "You obviously aren't the first to make one; someone before you had to have managed a way out." She brightened as an idea hit her. "The Doctor may have the answer for you! I'm almost certain, actually."

He chuckled.

She frowned. "What?"

"Nothin'." He shifted his gaze back to her. She was annoyed now. "It's just ... you sounded just like Sam then. All week, he's been reading books, contacting every kook in the country, convinced there's a way out." He heavily sighed. "Course, this was before we knew E.T. was involved ..."

"Which is why you should ask the Doctor," Martha insisted. Her face filled with wonder as she continued to speak. "He's done _incredible_ and brilliant things during the short time I've known him. He's ... well, he's rather amazing, he is."

Dean pushed the glass aside as he looked to her. She was positive the Doctor had all of the answers. How one person could have that much faith in anyone else, it was a total fricking mystery to him. "I ain't askin' him for help," he grumbled. "Besides, after _my_ short time with him, he's almost killed me. _Twice_."

She sighed as she leaned forward. "Look, you may not get on well with him, but he never refuses to help anyone who asks. He'll do everything he possibly can for you." She paused, trying to decipher the expression on his face. "Just talk to him."

"I can't," he shortly replied as he shook his head. "And it's not about me not likin' him, either. If I try to screw with this deal, the demon ... alien ... whatever the hell it is, will retaliate. Deal's off. Sam's dead again." He let out a heavy breath. "That's why we needed that gun; to take out as many of these sons of bitches as possible before ..." He paused as his gaze fell to the tabletop. "What's it matter? The Doc's on the job, right? He can take care of it. Big hero of the universe, or so you said."

Martha's jaw tightened. "This is your _life_." She took hold of one of his wrists, which made him look at her. "You can't simply give over to the demon, or alien, or whatever it is. If you do, you may as well _be_ dead already." It was a harsh statement, but she had to do something – anything - to pull him out of his ever-deepening well of self-pity. "Resign yourself to that fate, you've already lost. You're not the sort who accepts losing."

Thrown by her determination, which reminded him even more of Sam, he only gazed back at her. Could the Doctor _really_ have an answer for him? Was it ... possible?

Before Dean could respond, the bell above the diner's entrance door jingled, catching his and Martha's attention. An older man, dressed in a sheriff's uniform, stepped inside of the establishment then seated himself on an empty stool at the counter. Out of pure reflex, Dean slumped down in the seat as he lifted his hand to obscure his face.

Martha glanced from the sheriff, who placed his hat on the counter, to Dean. She arched a curious eyebrow. "What're you doing?" she asked in a hushed voice. She recalled another part of his story, then added, "I hardly think you're wanted for crimes you haven't yet allegedly committed."

He relaxed as he sat up straight. "Force of habit," he nonchalantly replied, casually gesturing with his hand in an attempt to play it off. In reality, he felt like a jackass.

"Hey, Fred," the middle-aged waitress behind the counter greeted as she stopped in front of the sheriff. She placed an empty mug in front of him then poured fresh coffee into it. "How're things at the office today?"

Fred wrapped both of his hands around the mug as he let out a breath. "Not good, Joleisa," he answered. "Not good at all."

A sympathetic expression crossed her features as she placed the coffee pot aside. "Still searchin' for the Reynolds girl?" When the sheriff shook his head, she went on. "Been almost a day, hasn't it?"

Another nod.

"Can't imagine what could've happened to her. Athena was always a good kid; didn't peg her as the kind to run away."

"No." The sheriff drummed his fingers against the mug as he stared at the black coffee within it. "Talked to some of her friends earlier." After a second, he lifted his head. "Said the last they saw of her, she was headed for the old Churchill house."

The waitress blanched. "Why would she go _there_?"

"You know kids that age, Jo. Daring each other to do stupid stuff, see who'll flinch first." He swirled the coffee before he took a drink. "Hell, they're all convinced the place is haunted as it is."

"Enough people have vanished out there, Fred," Joleisa evenly replied, her face still pale. "And, well, I'm not fully convinced that it _isn't_ haunted. Even when we were kids, we didn't dare go within half a mile of that place. Not after what happened to Tommy Jacobs."

Martha saw Dean's expression change at the mention of 'Tommy Jacobs'. She glanced back at the sheriff and the waitress. Both of them had fallen uncomfortably silent. "What is it?" she asked in a whisper when she turned to him. "Tommy Jacobs? Who is he?"

Dean, though, didn't hear her. He only stared at the sheriff, while the downtrodden man, unaware of him, absently sipped his coffee. Thinking about that missing girl, no doubt. He knew the look too well.

"Dean?" Martha waved a hand in front of his face, finally gaining his attention. "What's the matter?"

He glanced at the sheriff. She wouldn't stop asking until she found out, he knew. Why even try to lie now? "We can't talk about it here," he quietly said then stood up. "Come on."

* * *

Once they reached the end of Main Street, Dean came to a stop as did Martha. Beyond them, on the northern horizon, settled in the midst of near endless farmland, was the Churchill house. Sam was more familiar with the history of the place than he, but he didn't need a lot to know what was out there. Well, what he'd _thought_ was out there.

Martha's gaze shifted from the two-story farmhouse in the distance to Dean beside her. "What is it?"

He folded his arms across his chest. "Not sure now," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders. "Thought it was a ghost, until the Doc came along and said otherwise. Still, people've been disappearin' around the house since the late 1950s. Without a trace in most cases." He side-glanced at her. "And whenever they did find somebody? It wasn't much. A piece here and a piece there. Hell, usually not even enough for dental records."

She wrinkled her nose. "And no one's sorted it out?"

"Everyone has a good idea." He paused, his mouth quirked as he remembered the Doctor. "_Had_, I mean. We'd figured it was connected to a woman who was murdered there in the early 50s - Monica Churchill. Husband beat her for months before he finally killed her and hacked up her corpse."

Martha's eyes widened. Not so much at what had happened to the poor woman, which was awful enough, but at how blasé Dean was in relating it. As though it wasn't anything. Then, with the things he'd told her in the diner earlier, this was mild in comparison.

"In the early 60s, two hunters dug up her grave, and salted and burned her remains. But people just kept vanishing. Once in a while, they'd find pieces of'em in or around the house. Never did make sense, why the burning didn't work. No piece of her corpse they might've missed ever turned up, either." He sighed. "So, the Churchill house is like the Holy Grail of the hunter world. Whoever figures that out? Infamous." He chuckled. "No mystery now." He ruefully smiled. "I win, I guess."

Martha bit her lower lip as she studied his profile. He'd been so different in the past few hours. The cockiness and confidence he'd exhibited was almost gone. Understandable, given what he'd been through. The radical changes and the information overload; a sociologist in the early 1970s had called it 'future shock'. "Your father tried to solve the mystery?"

He looked down as he nodded. "Almost died out there. One of the few jobs he never finished." His arms dropped to his sides. "He was _good_ at this, too. One of the best ever. When he couldn't figure it out? I didn't think it could be done."

"You've never given it a go?"

He shifted his attention to the house. "Never had the inclination. Dad sure as hell never wanted to see the place again. Then ..."

An eyebrow raised. "Then ... what?"

He shrugged. "It ... just kind of ... stopped. People disappearing. No one's gone missing 'round here since ... " He pondered for a few moments. "About this time. Early 90s."

"Maybe someone managed to stop it?"

"Oh, hell no. If that'd happened, whoever it was would've made damn sure everybody knew." He absently gazed at the house now, a more serious expression on his face. "It's still out there, I think. And ... whatever it is ... it's just waiting."

"For what?"

He shook his head, slowly. "Who knows?"

Martha flicked her own gaze to the house. The late afternoon sun hit the structure at an odd angle, the shadow lingered eerily on the ground to the east. "We should find out," she firmly stated.

"What?" He looked to her, baffled.

"We should go," she replied. "A young girl is missing as well. It's more than possible she's still alive." She nodded to the house, and her resolve increased with each word. "Isn't that why you do what you do? To save innocent lives?"

"Yeah, but -"

"Then get to it!" she cut in before he could make an excuse.

"Look, I just told you – no one's been able to figure it out."

"They didn't have me!" she declared with a nod of her head and a smile. "Or the Doctor," she added as she took him by an arm. "Come on." Before he could say another word, Dean was being pulled along. "We're going to solve this mystery. _Today_."

* * *

When the doors to the TARDIS opened, the Doctor raised his head as Martha, followed by Dean, entered the ship. "How was the town of Evansville, Oklahoma?" he greeted as he stood straight. "Quiet and uneventful, I hope?"

Martha ignored the question. Instead she glanced around the console room. The place was an even bigger mess than it was when they'd left. "What happened here?" she asked as she turned to the Doctor. "Did you sort out what went wrong with the TARDIS yet?"

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Weeeelll, not _fully_," he admitted. "I've been preoccupied with another mystery."

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked as he carefully stepped over the loose pieces of floor grating. He'd had enough of this frigging trip and wanted to get back to his own time period. Preferably _without_ the detour via the Churchill house.

The Doctor rocked back and forth on his feet before he let his hand drop to his side. "It's about this Colt revolver, actually," he said as he nodded to the gun, which rested on the console beside him. "There is more to it than I initially thought."

"No, really?"

Ignoring Dean, the Doctor moved to the main screen at the console. "I performed a few tests," he continued. "The results of which were ... not what I'd expected." He glanced at Martha as she joined him. "The science is extremely advanced and complicated but -" He paused as he picked up the gun with both hands. "This gun, the energy it possesses, could destroy ... anything. No being in the universe would be safe from its power."

Martha wide-eyed gaze shifted from the Doctor to the weapon clutched in his hands. "How?" she almost whispered. "You said the science was complicated. Can't you put it into simpler terms, something we could understand?"

He glanced between Martha and Dean, the latter reclined in the nearby seat and stared blankly at him. "Well, basically, the pulse embedded within the weapon, when correctly aligned, has the ability to disrupt and deconstruct any type of living matter on a subatomic level." He focused on Dean. "If you did indeed use this on a Daemon, it would've been killed. Instantly. A feat which isn't easy. I know."

"Where did it come from?" Martha wondered as she regained the Doctor's attention. She motioned to the Colt. "And why would it look like that, instead of an ... alien ray gun or what not?"

He shook his head as he looked to the Colt again. "I'm not certain, in either case." His brow furrowed as he pondered the possibilities. "The technology is far too advanced for humans, especially in the time period during which it was fashioned. Hardly any of the beings who've visited this planet have anything close to its destructive power. Except for my kind ..." His mouth quirked. "And the Daleks."

Martha's heart skipped a beat when she heard the name - "Dalek". The alien race the Doctor had thought to have been erased from time yet they were still out there. One, at least. But one was more than enough to cause horrific devastation, she knew from first-hand experience. Four had nearly wiped out the Earth's population. Twice.

"Could you fix it?"

The Doctor and Martha both turned when Dean spoke.

"_What_?" the Doctor asked, his voice barely audible. He didn't hide the mix of surprise and horror at the mere notion of restoring the weapon to full working order.

He motioned to the gun. "You said your people know that technology. Could you fix it?"

"Even if I could, I _wouldn't_," the Doctor firmly (almost angrily) replied. He stepped closer to Dean as he held the Colt up between them. "_This_ was dangerous enough when it was merely a transdimensional gate key." He lowered it. "All the more reason to destroy it as soon as possible."

"Wouldn't it be useful, though?" Dean asked. When the Doctor, his eyes narrowed, peered over his shoulder at him, he continued, "Martha said you run around the universe and fight evil aliens. Or whatever it is you do, when you're not screwing up other people's lives. Wouldn't that be helpful? Said yourself it's hard to kill a Daemon."

His eyes narrowed even more. "You aren't actually suggesting that I _use_ this on another being?"

He shrugged. "What's it matter, if it's something evil?"

"If that isn't the standard human response to whatever you don't understand," he coldly said. "Why bother attempting to relate to it when it's so much easier to simply exterminate it?" He looked Dean over, the disdain on his face matched that within his tone. "Whenever I have hope for humanity, one like _you_ comes along to remind me exactly how primitive the lot of you still are."

"_Doctor_ ..." Martha blinked, stunned at the vitriol he'd exhibited. He'd never responded to any human in such a manner before, not since she'd traveled with him. She looked from him to Dean, uncertain of what to say. She didn't have the chance to try, though.

"So he's _really_ gonna help me?" he asked Martha, nodding to the Doctor. "He's going to be the hero and solve my problem, when he makes it pretty damn clear _he_ thinks I'm not even worth it?" He snorted, then he headed for the door leading out of the console room. When he reached it, he looked over his shoulder to her. "Just remember somethin'." He pointed to the Doctor. "He's talkin' about _you_, too."

Once Dean was gone, the Doctor replaced the Colt on the console, removed his screwdriver from his inner jacket pocket then knelt down and went back to work.

Martha's gaze flicked from the closed door to the Doctor on his knees beside her. "Was that necessary?" she demanded as she put her hands on her hips.

"What?" he murmured, looking up up from the readout on the monitor.

"_That_!" she exclaimed. She waved a hand in the direction Dean had gone. "It isn't enough you've completely shattered his life, but you have to insult him – and _me_ - as well?"

He let out a frustrated breath as he looked to her. "I didn't mean _you_, Martha. You're nothing like him. Or most of the humans I've met over the centuries." He focused on the panel in front of him. "If I thought that about you, I wouldn't have invited you along."

Her head cocked to one side. "Am I supposed to feel oh so _honored_?" she sarcastically exclaimed. Her eyebrows arched in an expectant manner when he looked to her. He had a strange expression on his face. "Is that _really_ what you think of us? Are we just primitive savages to you?"

"I've already said, Martha, I didn't mean _you_."

"I'm still a human, Doctor," she snapped. She shook her head, then added, less harshly, "He was only trying to be helpful."

"By suggesting _ murder_?"

"It doesn't seem that way to him. You'd know as much if you'd taken a second to ask. Something _ personal_, at any rate." Her eyes narrowed as something else occurred to her. "I shouldn't think you're in a position to judge anyone else, either, Doctor. Human or not."

He sat back on his heels. His expression was different now; it sent a chill down her spine. He knew exactly what she'd meant by the comment. "That has absolutely nothing to do with this," he coolly said. "Besides, I haven't the time to discuss his personal history -"

"Yet you _do_ have the time to research this?" she shot back as she picked up the Colt and waved it. "You've taken more interest in a hunk of bloody metal than a living person! If you'd had, you'd know _why_ he feels that way." She lowered the gun to her side. "And you'd also know he only has a year left to live," she solemnly finished.

Slowly, the Doctor over his shoulder. "_What_?"

* * *

Dean opened the next door; he heavily sighed as he shook his head. This wasn't the right room either. For ten minutes, he'd searched three different corridors of rooms, trying to find the one he'd woken up in earlier. How the Doctor or Martha or anyone could navigate this place, it was baffling. What the hell did one guy need all of this space for, anyway? Was he a part-time smuggler or something?

As he shut the door, he looked around the stark white, brightly lit area. Even now, after a significant amount of time aboard, it still baffled him it could fit inside a small blue box. And he'd seen a lot of unbelievable stuff in his life, but this? How was it possible? He wondered what else the Doctor's people were capable of. Putting it out of his mind, he moved on to the next corridor. Most of the rooms he'd checked so far were empty and seemed as though they hadn't been used in years. The next one he tried, however, actually had something inside of it. Boxes coated in almost half an inch of dust lined all four of the walls in the well-lit room. Some things, though, simply lay on the floor. Like they'd been placed there with an intention of being stored but, instead, were forgotten.

Curious, he pulled a box down from a stack and opened the folded flaps. To his surprise, it was full of things he recognized as a hunter: amulets, charms, and weapons, among other things. He knew why _he_ would need the items, but why would the Doctor? Behind the rest of that stack, leaned against the wall, was a simple shotgun. He picked it up then blew away the dust from a portion of the barrel. Nothing outwardly alien about it. Then again, the Colt didn't seem alien to him. He squinted when he noticed something odd around the area a shell would be loaded into the weapon. Remnants of salt.

His brow furrowed, puzzled, as he lowered the gun and looked around the room. What was it all for? Placing the shotgun aside, Dean opened up another box.

Time to find out what else the Doctor had hidden away on this ship.

End Chapter Six


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

When Martha finished retelling the story Dean related her in while in town, the Doctor shook his head as he leaned back in his seat. The tale was rather fantastic, even by his own standards. Those were excessively high standards as well. The various ... _beings_ Dean and Sam Winchester had experienced and encountered over the years, the last two in particular, surprised him. That didn't happen often.

As she leaned against the console, Martha crossed her arms over her stomach. For once, the Doctor had been completely silent the entire time she spoke. Not once did he attempt to interrupt her. Actually, during most of it, he seemed baffled. "Well?" she asked when he made no effort to respond.

"It's amazing," he admitted. He paced back and forth in front of her, thinking on the story. Numerous encounters with so-called vampires, demons, zombies, ghosts and half a dozen more odd beings. Yes, amazing, indeed. "How could so much alien activity on Earth slip by me?" he quietly wondered. "It's impossible, actually." He paused and shrugged. "Well, I _do_ travel a lot. And I _have_ been distracted by other things lately."

Martha scoffed then muttered, "More like by some_one_." As usual, he was too consumed by his own thoughts to hear her.

Hands tucked into his trouser pockets, he paced as he continued to process what he'd heard. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. "Some of it doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't?"

"The behaviors of several of these ... beings, that's what," he answered. His mouth quirked. "The Daemons, mostly. It doesn't reconcile with my knowledge of them. Even ones who would've assimilated to this planet's various cultures over the millennia."

"Perhaps he's right."

The Doctor stopped dead in his tracks and looked to her. "About what?"

"Not _all_ of these ... creatures are alien in nature."

"Of course they _are_!" he exclaimed as he yanked his hands from his pockets. "Martha, there are no such thing as ghosts. Or vampires or werewolves, witches or magic. Any of it!" He pointed to the Colt. "The technology responsible for the destructive power of that gun isn't of this planet. It's not supernatural or unexplainable – it's _alien_."

"You just said not _everything_ made sense," she countered.

"It doesn't mean I can't find a logical reason for it," he confidently replied, looking down his nose at her.

"Which means you can help him, with this supposed 'demon deal'?" She waited, and watched the Doctor carefully as he turned away from her. He didn't appear so confident then. "Unless it's out of your jurisdiction?"

He whirled around. "It is _not_," he defensively replied. The pacing resumed. "Obviously, the Daemons they've encountered over the years are completely ignorant of their true nature." He paced as he brushed a hand through his hair. "They've fully embraced the human lore of the 'demon'. And one's placed itself in the Mephistopheles role and is making 'deals' with humans."

"So you _can_ help." It sounded more like a question than a statement, though.

"It's difficult to say, since I've no idea _which_ Daemon has assumed the persona."

"We should do what he did." When the Doctor shifted his attention to her, Martha explained, "Go to a nearby crossroads, summon the Daemon and ask her. Surely she would know, if she's not the one responsible herself."

His gaze fell to the floor in front of him. "We could do. However, if these Daemons are as lost as they sound ... " His sentence trailed off. He closed his eyes, then sighed as he opened them. "I wouldn't be able to reason with them. Which would leave me with only one option."

"That is?" she prompted.

He hesitated before he looked her in the eye. "Destroy them." After several seconds of uneasy silence, he quietly continued, "What about this farmhouse, then? You mentioned a girl went missing a few days ago."

Slowly, Martha's mouth closed as she realized the Doctor had changed the subject entirely. The way he'd said that, what his only option would've been, it was eerie. Actually, it rather frightened her. "Yes," she softly replied as she stepped closer to the console, and him. "Whatever is in that house, it's been active for almost thirty years. Relative to _this_ time period."

He raised his head. "Did he elaborate on what happened to his father?" He continued to punch buttons and scan the alien language as it rolled by on the main screen.

"He didn't reveal too much - " She pushed herself away from the console, startled, when several lights suddenly flashed. "I didn't touch a thing!" She held up her hands.

A faint smile crossed the Doctor's lips as he flicked a switch which calmed the lights. "That was me." He patted the console, gently. "We should be able to safely travel again. Weeeell, not that we weren't able to _before_, it's just that I -"

"Doctor," she interrupted. When he looked to her, curious, she added, "The _house_? The missing girl? Remember?"

"Ah!" he suddenly exclaimed as he snapped his fingers. "Yes! The house!" He toiled with the controls of the TARDIS. "I'll need to speak with our, uh, guest." He glanced at her. "I'll have to know everything _he_ does if I'm to solve this mystery."

"Right." Her mouth quirked.

She wasn't sure Dean would ever speak to him again. Obviously, the thought hadn't occurred to the Doctor. Then, he _was_ terribly obtuse at times, especially when dealing with people. For someone who claimed to be an expert on everything, the Doctor didn't understand the human race very well. No matter how human he appeared on the outside, it would never mask how alien he was inside.

After Martha left, the Doctor paused in his clean up room to look over his shoulder at the closed door. He'd definitely not meant to offend _her_ with his earlier comment. Sometimes, he truly forgot whom his companions were. Especially when those humans were like Martha Jones. As he went back to work, he made a mental note to make it up to her. Soon.

* * *

"Dean?" Martha opened the last door in the corridor and peeked inside. No one. She heavily sighed as she closed it.

She'd been on this mission for nearly thirty minutes. She'd checked the first room Dean had been in after his arrival. When she found it empty, she concluded he was probably lost within the TARDIS. Not a difficult feat. The ship was a labyrinth, one which had no reason or rhyme. This portion of the ship was the exact opposite of the console room. Brilliantly white and brightly lit. Antiseptic, really. It reminded her of a hospital.

"Dean?" she called as she entered the next corridor. She looked to her left then her right before moving to the first door on the left. After she opened it, she paused when she realized a light was on inside. She glanced around. "Dean, are you in here?" When she heard movement on the opposite side of the door, she peered around. On his knees, surrounded by piles of various strange objects, was Dean.

"Hey," he greeted, then continued to sift through the open box in front of him.

She looked from the objects – amulets, jewels, clothing, oddly shaped weaponry, and other things – to him once more. "What _is_ all of this?"

He sat back on his heels and surveyed what he'd discovered so far. "I know what some of it is," he replied as he gestured to a pile on his left. "The rest." He nodded to those on his right. "No friggin' clue."

Martha squatted down beside him. "You found this in here?" She glanced around the room, noticing how many unopened boxes remained stacked upon each other. She'd not been inside many of the TARDIS' rooms. Not that the Doctor didn't allow her to investigate them if she wished, but she usually stuck to the ones she knew best. Such as her own room, the bath, the infirmary or the kitchen area.

"Yeah." He watched her examine the amulet she now held in her hands. "I know what _I'd_ use this stuff for. Why the Doc has it ..." He shrugged. "I have no damn idea." He shifted his own gaze to the remaining stacks of boxes. "With the dust on 'em, no one's been in here for a long, long time."

"He's probably forgotten about it," Martha said, her tone thoughtful, as she picked up something else from the floor. "I'm sure he doesn't remember half of these rooms. He said it's been centuries since he's been in some areas."

"Centuries, huh?" Dean shook his head. "Doesn't look that old." He paused as another thought came to him. "Why _does_ he look like us? I don't get that."

"You'd be surprised how many alien species resemble humans," she replied as she lifted her head. "Even in the future. And in distant galaxies you've never even heard of."

"What about the one he mentioned earlier?" Dean searched for the weird name the Doctor had given them. "Daleks. They look human, too?"

She bit her lower lip as shook her head. Her eyes remained riveted to the silver blade clasped between her hands. "No, they don't. You shouldn't mention them in front of the Doctor, either." She met his gaze. "His race and theirs, they didn't get on well."

He sifted through a box. "Yeah, if all of his people act like him, I ain't surprised. What the hell's his problem?"

Quickly, she averted her gaze; her finger curled around the curiously shaped knife as she debated on whether or not to answer his question. Even if it was rhetorical. "They're dead," she murmured, looking to him. He'd stopped what he was doing and focused on her. "The Doctor's people – they're gone. He's the only one left."

"How'd that happen?"

She stared at the blade in her hands, which rested atop her thighs. "There was a war – a Time War – between the Time Lords and the Daleks. His people lost."

"So these Daleks killed everyone _but_ him?"

"No. He destroyed everything – his own race as well as the Daleks – to prevent their full victory."

Dean looked away, stunned. He couldn't imagine what that must've felt like, let alone actually _doing_ it. To kill everyone he knew - and didn't know - to prevent the other side from winning the war? What he _could_ imagine was what it was like to be the only one left. That time during which Sam was dead, it was less than a few days. Though, it might as well have been a lifetime. At least his decision to bring Sam back hadn't destroyed anyone's future but his own. And what kind of future was that? Eternity in another dimension?

"He sacrificed it all to save the universe from the evil of the Daleks. If he hadn't ..." She swallowed hard as she recalled her own experiences with the last four survivors of the Dalek race. What they'd done to so many innocent human beings, what they'd done even to themselves. "Nightmare" didn't even start to cover it. "If he hadn't, our planet and more than likely every other wouldn't be here. Not as we know them, anyway."

"How did he survive?"

She shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "He wouldn't tell me the details. Whatever it was, it was catastrophic enough to kill both races _and_ end his entire planet."

"I don't get it," Dean said as he frowned. He motioned to the room around them. "He has a _time machine_. Why doesn't he go back and stop it from getting that bad? Warn the other Time Lords or ... "

"They're not only dead." She looked him in the eyes. "They've sort of ... been erased from time, along with the Daleks. It's ... it's as though they've never existed. He couldn't go back, even if it was an option."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I mentioned it earlier, when I stopped you from speaking to your father," she answered. "If you'd have interrupted your own timeline, it would've created a paradox. It would rip apart space and time itself. If he were able to prevent his people from being killed ... the entire universe would unravel. The past is the foundation for the present as well as the future."

"How can he even _be_ here if his whole race never existed?"

"Time, I've discovered, is complicated." She lowered her head as she placed the knife on the floor. "I'm not sure how to explain it; you may not understand it even if _he_ did."

"So, the war's over and he's alone."

"Oh, no. He's not alone." Martha brightly replied as she forced a smile onto her face. "He has me! He needs someone to keep him company. And in line," she added.

"That's all you are to him, somebody to keep him company?" He tried to sound nonchalant as possible. "Just a _friend_?"

"That'd be me." A light laugh followed. "Good old Martha Jones, just a friend." She avoided Dean's eyes, instead taking an interest in a simple wooden box on the floor in front of them. "I wonder what's in this?" she asked as she picked it up.

"_Don't!_" Dean almost shouted, quickly clasping his hands around both of hers before she could open it. "You don't want to do that," he said, much calmer. "It's a curse box."

"A _curse_ box?" she repeated as she looked to her hands which were still grasped within his. "What the hell is that?"

"Believe me, you don't want to find out. Powerful black magics are behind them."

"Actually ..." The Doctor's voice made both of them turn their heads and look up just in time to see him enter the room. "It's a Quistian mirth chest." He folded his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Picked that one up in Scotland around ... 1760-something. Can't recall the exact date, it was so long ago." He nodded to them, indicating the box. "Thelussian merchant peddled them to poor, unsuspecting humans. Thought it was hilarious to watch the results."

Martha opened her hands and warily eyed the worn box. "What's in it, then?"

"Weeelll, it 's nothing _evil_. Definitely _not_ black magic," the Doctor assured her as he approached. He crouched down beside her. "Merely a microscopic organism from that system. Little buggers wreak all sorts of havoc on anything they come into contact with." He carefully removed the box from her hands. "It only _seems_ like a curse." He held it up. "Probably thousands of these are still on Earth because of him."

Dean smirked. "You got an explanation for everything, don't ya, Doc?"

"_Everything_ can be explained," the Doctor simply replied then rose to his full height. "If you're quite finished plundering my personal belongings, perhaps you could be useful for a change?"

He frowned as his eyes narrowed. "What use am I to _you_?"

"We'll find out soon enough."

* * *

Martha stepped beside the Doctor once the TARDIS wound down. She glanced from the screen to him. "Where did we go?"

The Doctor turned a knob. "We're closer to the house," he reported. He shifted his attention to Dean. "A place you know more about than I do." He threw up a lever and moved closer to the other human. "If I'm to solve this mystery, I'll need to know what _you_ do. Specifically what happened to your father while he was there."

"All right," Dean evenly replied after a few seconds of staring at the alien. "You wanna know what happened to him?" The Doctor nodded. "He almost _died_. You do whatever you want with that ... knowledge."

He was silent almost half a minute before he quietly said, "Martha, could leave us alone, please?"

She looked from one to the other. "Maybe I should - "

"Leave." The Doctor's tone was flat, emotionless.

As much as she didn't like the way he'd spoken to her - and against her better judgment - Martha did as ordered. She paused by the door and cast a glance over her shoulder. It was almost like a standoff of sorts. Nervously biting her lower lip, she turned and finally left. However, she didn't go far beyond the door after it closed.

Once Martha had left, the Doctor shifted his hard gaze to Dean. "I understand you're angry with me, but that's no reason to keep innocent lives at risk. If this ... being is killing humans, I must know everything you do about what's happened here." He paused, yet Dean made no indication he planned to respond. "Your father appears to be the only survivor."

"If you wanna find out what's in that house, why don't you go look?" He chuckled. "Might turn out to be somebody you know."

"The sooner you tell me what I need to know, the sooner I can return you to your proper time period."

Dean turned his back to the Doctor. "And what if I don't _want_ to go back?"

"What?"

He shrugged. "Nothin' left for me there, just a lousy year. And then who even knows?" Another shrug, as he settled his gaze on the floor. "Thought it was Hell, now I have no damn idea. Some freakish alien dimension? No thanks."

"Martha mentioned your ... problem," the Doctor quietly said. "I'm ... not certain I'll be able to help you. I'm sorry."

Dean forced a laugh as he turned to face him. "I bet that's just _killin'_ you, too," he sarcastically replied.

"As much as you leave to be desired as a human, you still are one," the Doctor countered, offended by the accusation. "And, despite your flaws, humans have immense promise as a species. The things you've managed so far? Brilliant. And what you're _going_ to do?" A small smile. "Fantastic."

"Not me." Dean shook his head, almost sadly. "Why the hell _should_ I go back?" He sighed. "Sam's probably better off. He doesn't really need me anymore. He can take care of himself."

"You'd so easily abandon the only family you have?"

Dean glanced at him. "Maybe that bitch can't touch me in the past," he stiffly said. The Doctor didn't confirm or deny the statement, unfortunately. "You know, the 90s weren't so bad. I wouldn't mind reliving them. I won't make the same mistakes twice. I'll get it right this time around."

"I can't allow it." When Dean looked to him, confused and more than a bit angry, the Doctor added, "It's too dangerous to leave you in this time period, especially on Earth. Far too many variables involved."

"Take me to another planet, then," he snapped, the frustration growing with each word. "This piece of crap travels in space, too, right?"

The Doctor's lips pursed at the sleight against his ship. "A human like you wouldn't survive on another planet; definitely not one with a culture vastly different from your own."

"'Like me'? What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He pointed to himself. "How'm I any different than Martha? Why is _she_ so special that she gets to hang out with you?"

"Martha is _not_ the issue here," he snapped. "No matter what awaits you in the future, you must go back." Before Dean could protest, he held up a hand. "End of discussion."

Shaking his head, Dean muttered, "Figures. Dunno where I'm gonna end up and no one can do anything about it."

"That's the future – uncertainty."

"Uncertainty?" Dean repeated as he raised an eyebrow, curious. "How can a guy calling himself a _Time Lord_ be uncertain about the future? Thought time was your business, Doc?"

"It is," he insisted. "Everything that is, was, could and should not be – it's all here." He tapped his temple with a finger. "There are few certainties in the Universe; not even Time is certain of everything. I've seen so many possible and impossible futures. You could be bound for an obvious fate ..." He casually shrugged his shoulders. "... and you end up with another."

"I ain't big on hope," Dean replied, shaking his head. "That's what it sounds like you're sellin' me."

"In these situations, you find something worth living for."

He remembered Rose Tyler. She was pivotal in bringing him back from the edge. She'd reminded him of why he needed to live, of why he had to continue to travel, and of why he'd even bothered to leave his home planet so many centuries ago. Without her, he couldn't fathom what he would've become.

"Stuff like that can be taken from you. It's why I'm in this mess." He paused then added, "Kinda the same reason you're where you're at, huh?"

The Doctor blinked as he snapped out of his thoughts. "Sorry, what?"

"Martha told me about that War, with those Daleks. You destroyed both of your races, to keep them from winning."

"Yes," he slowly and uncertainly said as his eyes narrowed. "They couldn't have been allowed to control space and time." His expression turned more somber, distant. "I've witnessed enough death for five lifetimes. Entire species and cultures erased from Time, as though they'd never existed." A pause. "You ... understand why I reacted as I did earlier?"

"I guess," he murmured.

After a lengthy, uncomfortable silence, the Doctor cleared his throat. "Now ... about this house," he said as he punched a few keys on the keyboard in front of him. "Would you tell me whatever it is you happen to know?"

With a light thud, Dean dropped onto the middle seat then looked up at the Doctor. As much as he didn't want to rehash the details, what else could he do? Really, what else could_ he _do? He wasn't useful to _any_one, _any_where, in _any_ time period. Except maybe to the Doctor in this one. There was still the matter of the missing girl, Athena Reynolds.

It was time to see if Martha was right. Time to find out if the guy truly _was_ this big universe saving hero she'd claimed him to be.

End Chapter Seven


	8. Chapter 8

(AN: This was written long before the series four _Doctor Who_ episodes "Silence In The Library" and "Forest of the Dead" were transmitted. You're probably wondering why I mention it, but once you read a specific exchange, it'll make sense. I contemplated altering it, for the sake of honoring _Who_ canon but eventually decided not to. I liked it too much. :) Thank ye.)

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Dean reclined in the seat, draping his arms over its back and focused on the Doctor. "Before settlers moved West, no one lived around here. For a few miles out from where the house is, none of the Native American tribes never set foot on it. Claimed it was cursed." He paused. "The Cherokee called it 'A-yo-ho-hi-s-di Ga-to-hi', which literally translates into 'Death Land'. They said a great Evil lurked below the earth, an evil that ate mens' souls. After the panhandle opened legally to settlers in 1889, those dudes found out about it."

"What happened?"

"A lotta motiveless murders, like people went nuts for no reason," he answered with a shrug. "Evansville was founded in 1897, but nothin' like that ever happened there. No murders, no weird stuff. Even today, it's been relatively normal."

The Doctor nodded, thoughtful. "When was this house erected?"

"Late 1910s. Just the Churchill family ever lived in the place, until the late 50s. When Frank Churchill cracked his wife's skull and killed her, then dismembered her corpse."

His mouth quirked at the casual way Dean spoke of the woman's vicious murder, it was ... _unusual_. Almost as though the death of another human being didn't matter. "And what became of _him_?"

"Dude went to jail." He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Afterwards, he spouted off this lame-ass story that he didn't want to kill her. From what I heard, he beat the hell out of that woman for years before he killed her. Said a voice told him to do it. Maybe it did. Who knows? Maybe he was just _crazy_." He paused as he shook his head. "Back in the early 60s, a couple of hunters tried to stop the murders and disappearances by salting and burning Monica Churchill's remains. Made sense she was doin' it. But it didn't work; it kept happening."

"What prompted your father to investigate the house?"

"A whackjob named Tommy Jacobs," he grumbled, scowling. "Only non-hunter known to have gone into there and come out alive. Or at _all_. After Dad talked to this guy, he thought he'd figured it out."

"What was his experience?"

"Not what he'd expected."

"Which means ...?"

He sat up straight. "Look, Doc, a lotta guys have been in that house over the years, trying to solve the mystery. Some came back, others didn't. Those who did, they never found anything strange. No ghosts, no unusual EMF levels, no suggestion it was something we could deal with, and no one else ever saw what Tommy Jacobs claimed he did."

"What did _he_ see?"

"His friends had dared him to go into the cellar because, well, that's where Churchill dismembered his wife's body. Gotta be the _scariest _room in the place, right?" He let out a breath. "So, he goes down there and ... he said he saw a 'monster in the wall'. Heard a voice whispering, like it was inside of his head, telling him stuff. Never said exactly what that was or what the thing looked like."

"Did your father have a similar experience?"

"No. He saw ghosts of people who'd gone missing, which wouldn't be unusual for a joint like that but ... " He frowned as he stared at the console across from him. "Rock salt had no effect on them. Not even as a temporary distraction." Off of the Doctor's puzzled expression, he explained, "Ghosts, in our experience, dissipate when hit with a rock salt round. These ghosts, though, they kept coming after him. And coming and coming. They ... almost killed him."

The Doctor's brow furrowed as he frowned. Something was oddly familiar about the story, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd had so many experiences of his own over the centuries, they tended to get lost in his memory. For a while, he'd tried to keep a diary; eventually he forgot about _that_. "How did he manage to survive?"

Dean picked at a loose string on the seat. "A mysterious woman appeared out of nowhere. Her only words were 'come with me', then she took him by a wrist and led him out." He shifted his gaze to the Doctor. "If she hadn't have shown up when she did ... " Instead of finishing the thought, he added, "Tommy Jacobs said the same thing happened to him. Like with my dad, she disappeared as soon as he was outside." He sighed as he leaned back. "That's all I know. If it helps, good. If not, I don't know what else to tell you." A beat. "Doc?"

The Doctor blinked as he snapped out of his contemplative daze. "Hmm? Oh, yes! It helps a great deal. Thank you," he quickly replied. As he turned, he hit a few buttons on the console panel. "Martha?"

The door opened and Martha leaned into the room. She'd overheard the entire conversation, and she suspected the Doctor was well aware of the fact. "Yes?" she cautiously replied.

His eyes never left the screen as he spoke. "I'll need you to stay here while we investigate the house."

"Stay _here_?" Martha exclaimed at the same time Dean nearly shouted, "What do you mean, '_we'_?"

The Doctor looked over his shoulder – each of the humans was annoyed with him, but for different reasons. "Is there a problem with my plan?"

"Yes," Martha firmly stated as she stepped up beside him, arms crossed. "I won't sit here and do nothing."

"You won't be doing nothing. You're responsible for the TARDIS." Off of her scowl, he added, "I'm not certain what is inside the house; I need someone familiar with the ship to guard her." He then focused on Dean. "And I'll need _your_ help in searching."

"Well, screw_ that_! I'm not steppin' foot in there," Dean declared as he pointed to the TARDIS' doors. "I'll keep an eye out here."

"You don't understand the controls, and I haven't the time to explain them." The Doctor flipped another switch and studied the display on the screen. "Hmm. A concentration of unusual energy in the sub-level of the house." His brow furrowed. "I've seen this before ... but _where_?" He ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. "Where?"

"You'd better come up with a different plan," Dean said as he sat down, a resolved look on his face. "I ain't leavin'."

Slowly, the Doctor pivoted on a heel. "It's quite difficult for me to believe you were _ever_ in the business of fighting evil and saving innocent lives," he coolly replied.

His eyes narrowed. "Are you insinuatin' I'm a coward?"

"I insinuated nothing."

After he jumped to his feet, Dean jabbed a finger into the Doctor's left shoulder. "I've faced off with things any normal human being would've run screaming from. And you think I can't handle whatever's in there?"

"You said it," the Doctor calmly replied. "I didn't." He patted Dean's shoulder as his expression turned more sympathetic. "Bearing that in mind, perhaps it _is_ better you stay here. No doubt your fear will be a hindrance." He removed his sonic screwdriver from his inner jacket pocket. "I'm more than sufficiently prepared for whatever it may be."

"Not so friggin' fast, Doc," Dean snapped as he grabbed his shoulder. "I'm goin'. We'll find out who's 'sufficiently prepared'."

He smiled. "Brilliant!"

"But not without some protection of my own," Dean added, not letting go of the Doctor's arm.

The smile vanished. "You will _not_ carry a gun."

"C'mon. What's rock salt gonna to do an alien?" A devious grin tugged at the corners of Dean's mouth. "Unless _you _wanna volunteer to take a shot so we can find out?"

The Doctor's eyes slightly narrowed but, reluctantly, he agreed. "You're not to shoot without my expressed permission," he stated.

Dean shrugged. "Whatever you say." With that, he left the console room.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

Martha watched him study the screen at the console. "Is there another reason you don't want me to go with you?" she quietly asked. "More than simply needing someone to guard the ship?"

"I'd rather not put you in harm's way, Martha."

"Isn't this what I came along for, Doctor?" She did her best to keep her voice in a calm, level tone. In actuality, she wanted to shout it. "Hasn't every other adventure we've been on together proven I'm capable of handling myself? The Plasmavore? The Carrionites? The Daleks? Nearly _three months_ of protecting the human version of you from the Family?"

With a heavy sigh, he stood straight as he faced her. "It's not that I don't believe you're able to handle yourself, it just isn't _necessary_."

"Because _Dean's_ going with you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Well, yes," he admitted yet rushed to add, "But he has relevant knowledge." He placed his hands on her shoulders, his face softened. "And, well, I _do_ need someone to stay with the TARDIS. If this being is intelligent as well as evil, a powerful piece of technology such as this must be kept from it. Understand?"

"Yes." It was almost a whisper.

He smiled, relieved. "As soon as we've left, secure the doors. _Keep_ them secured, no matter what."

Her jaw tightened. "Of course."

The smile faded. "If something should happen to me, the TARDIS is programmed to return to the day we last left your timeline." He looked up and she turned a little as Dean re-entered the console room, the shotgun tucked underneath an arm. "Use the button I showed you, the ship will do the rest."

"And if you don't come back ... but _he_ does?" Martha paused. "If the ship returns us to _my_ timeline, his year will be up."

The Doctor looked from Dean, who now loaded his shotgun, to Martha's expectant face. "It won't come to that."

"But what if it -"

"It won't." As Martha opened her mouth, he repeated, firmly, "It ... _won't_."

"Won't what?" Dean asked as he joined them. He flicked his gaze from one to the other. Martha did her best to smile, but he knew they'd been discussing something unpleasant. "What is it?"

The Doctor let go of Martha and headed for the doors. "Come along then!"

Dean looked to Martha again. She regarded him differently than before. It was an expression he knew well – pity. Instead of asking about it, he said, "Don't worry about the Doc. I'm used to watching out for somebody else. It's second nature." Her expression didn't change. "I promise you, he's safe with me. I'll keep an eye on him." After an uncomfortable pause, he headed down the ramp.

Folding her arms across her chest, she murmured, "That's supposed to be _my_ job."

* * *

Outside, once the Doctor heard Martha secure the TARDIS doors, he turned his attention to the Churchill farmhouse. He raised the sonic screwdriver as he scanned the front of the structure. When finished, he shook his head. "The energy level is fluctuating," he reported as glanced at Dean beside him. His brow furrowed. "It isn't massive, it's merely enough to register." He glanced to his left again. "Are you all right?"

The sun had gone down. The early evening sky was brighter than usual, thanks to the full hunters moon; a moon so brilliant in luminescence, everything around them cast a shadow as though it were day. Because of the unusual light, the dilapidated two-story house before them was clearly visible.

Shotgun clutched in both hands, Dean stared up at the place. The white paint had almost completely chipped away to reveal the weathered grey wood beneath it. Half of the windows were broken out, mostly on the first level. Those that were, boards had been nailed over the holes left behind. The front door slowly creaked back and forth on its rusted hinges. Odd, as there wasn't the slightest breeze.

The Doctor snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face. He lifted an eyebrow when Dean, startled, looked at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Sure," he quickly answered. Inwardly, he shuddered as he regarded the house once more. "Place is creepier in the dark."

"Hmm." The Doctor shifted his attention to the house.

His own view of it was much different than Dean's, more analytical. The age came through to him not in appearance but in _feel_. He could sense the amount of time passage in the wood, brick and mortar. In his terms, the house was new, just not well-tended. Fear wasn't present when he regarded it, either. His anticipation was rooted in curiosity – what – or _who_ - was inside?

Dean noticed the contemplative expression on the Doctor's face. "You don't think that's creepy?" He nodded to the house. "It's spooky enough during the day."

He shrugged as he readjusted the settings on his device. "There's nothing in the dark which isn't there in the light," he matter-of-factly said. He removed a small torch from his inner jacket pocket and offered it to Dean. "See for yourself."

He accepted the flashlight as the Doctor carefully ascend the unstable porch steps. "Not in my line of work, Doc," he muttered.

Inside, the floorboards creaked and moaned as the two of the crept through the main room. The furniture, what was left of it, was broken and rotted. Red dust, pieces of wood and shards of broken glass littered the floor. The blue-white moonlight which streamed through the cracks of the boarded windows gave the room an even eerier appearance.

When Dean shone the beam to his left, he found a flight of stairs leading to the upper level. To the left of the staircase itself was a rather narrow hallway, which led to another portion of the house. Directly in front of them was an open archway, and beyond it looked to be the kitchen area. "Where to first?" he asked in a hushed voice. "Upstairs? Downstairs?" A pause. "Next town over?"

The Doctor peered over his shoulder, his mouth quirked at the uneasy smile Dean gave in return. "Just a moment." He flicked on the screwdriver and held it up. As he pivoted on a heel, he scanned the entire room. The pitch momentarily elevated when it passed by the doorway ahead. "It's originating from there." As they entered the remains of the kitchen, the Doctor stopped in the middle of the room. "It's below us, whatever it is." The device flicked off as he turned to Dean. "There must be a way to the sub-level here."

Dean panned the light beam around the far perimeter of the room. Nothing but barren, doorless cabinets, boarded up windows and an overturned wooden table with a leg missing on a filthy floor. He heard the Doctor's screwdriver's trill again. He watched as the Doctor moved away from him, to the far wall. "What exactly _is_ that thing?" he finally asked.

"This?" The Doctor raised it a little. "A sonic screwdriver."

"What's it _do_?"

"Bit of everything," was the distracted reply. He stopped on the nearby closed door when the tone jumped up another octave. "There we are." He flicked it off again then he placed a hand on the doorknob and gave it a turn. "It's locked." He let it go. "Or jammed. Or ..."

"I'll get it, Doc."

"Hmm?" The Doctor raised his head just as Dean prepared to put his foot to the door. "No! Wait, don't - !" he exclaimed as he reached out his hands. Too late. He quickly shielded himself from the splintering wood as the boy's foot made contact with the aged door. Slowly, he lowered his arms.

Dean smugly grinned as he gestured to the open doorway. "Aliens first."

He glared as he brushed the slips of wood and dust from his suit jacket. "Typical," he muttered.

His smile faded. "What? I didn't _shoot_ it."

"Why don't we simply announce on a loudspeaker we're here?"

"Oh, come on! Whatever this thing is, it probably already knows we're here."

"Well, if it didn't before, it certainly does _now_." The Doctor practically snatched the torch from Dean's hand. "Stay behind me." He paused then looked to him again. "And, for Rassilon's Sake, don't bloody _shoot_ anything, either!" He shone the beam of light down into the pitch black and illuminated a set of wooden stairs.

Frowning, Dean asked, "Who the hell is _Rassilon_?"

Ignoring him, the Doctor focused on the lower level. The smell emanating from below was odd. Not the typical mildew odor to be expected in a house in such a condition. It was something else. Stronger. Another sniff. Then, he recognized it.

Dean noticed it, too. A scent he knew just as well as the Doctor - blood. He couldn't help but remember the last time he'd encountered it, and so strongly. Images of Sam, laying in that old bed – dead – flashed through his mind. His tension level rose. He felt a familiar sickness in his gut. Emotions he'd become an expert in controlling over the years, they began to control _him_.

Before he could take a step down, the Doctor squinted as he placed a hand to his forehead. Almost as soon as the door had been kicked open, a noise – indescribable – filled his mind.

"Something wrong?"

Heel of his hand still pressed to his head, he leaned against the doorway for support. "Noise. Screaming ... " he answered through gritted teeth. The intensity continued to grow. He'd experienced this before ...

Dean shrugged. "I don't hear anything."

'_DOCTOR!_'

The terrified, desperate shriek of one of his long past companions cut through the cacophony. In his mind's eye, there were quick, successive flashes of Tegan Jovanka ... Vislor Turlough ... then, finally, a small village in the English countryside. His hand dropped to his side as the noise subsided. His eyes flew open, his double-heart rate raced as he remembered. _Everything_.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean's anger and confusion masked his heightening fear.

"We have to leave."

"You won't get any argument here," he eagerly replied. He saw the way the Doctor struggled to keep his balance. "You gonna be able to walk?"

Before he could respond, the Doctor cried out in pain as he dropped to his knees and doubled over. The torch and sonic screwdriver clattered to the wooden floor at almost the same moment he did.

"Goddammit! Doc?" Dean knelt down and put the light on the Doctor's face. The alien was in agony, an agony with which was very familiar. Sam would get the same way whenever he had one of his visions. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Have .. to .. go ..." the Doctor ordered between pained gasps. Suddenly, he released an anguished cry. He tried to focus on Dean, but the pain - and the torchlight - made it impossible. He shoved the light away from his face. "Focused ... psychokinetic ... energy ..."

Grabbing the Doctor by the upper arms, he shook him. "What's doing it?" The sense of confused panic fast overrode any other emotions. "_What_?"

"The ... Malus ... " For a second, he clearly saw the human's face. He gripped Dean by his shirt, then hissed, "_RUN_!"

"Sorry, Doc. I'm not leavin' without you." Dean took the Doctor by the jacket with one hand and tried to haul him to his feet. He'd promised Martha he wouldn't let anything happen to the son of a bitch. A promise he intended to keep. "Get your ass up!"

Instead of doing so, they both collapsed to the floor.

End Chapter Eight


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

--

Dean could only watch - helpless - as the Doctor lay curled in the fetal position on the floor, the pure agony etched onto his features while he clawed at the sides of his head. It was impossible to get the guy to his feet and with the violent reaction to the pain, he'd didn't want to risk hauling him over his shoulder. He couldn't get him out, he couldn't leave him. What the hell _could_ he do?

As he began to rise to his feet, his gaze fell on the sonic screwdriver, which was illuminated by the flashlight beam shining across the dirty floor. Something came back to him – a piece of the conversation the Doctor and Martha had about infrasonic waves and the effects on the body. The device itself was _sonic_. Would it make a difference? Unfortunately, it was his only shot.

He snatched it from the floor then flipped it around in his hands. "How does this work?" he angrily muttered. He recalled the motions the Doctor performed to use it. "Come on ... " He, almost frantically, pressed every single button visible on the device. "Come on, you piece of futuristic, alien space crap ... _work_!"

As if on cue, the sonic screwdriver brightly flashed as it came to life, emitting a high-pitched squeal as it did. When the current setting produced no visible change in the Doctor's state, Dean continued to randomly punch the buttons, and its trill altered pitch each time. Soon, he hit one which appeared to have an effect.

The Doctor's eyes opened and, uneasily, he pushed himself up from the floor.

"Hey," Dean exclaimed despite himself. He was surprised at how relieved he was the jackass was okay. "You're - "

The Doctor grabbed the sonic screwdriver from him, checked the setting then tweaked it until the noise in his mind was totally dampened. Breathing heavily, he flicked it off then rubbed his throbbing temples with his free hand. Finally, it was gone. All of it - the pain, the noise, the screaming. He narrowed his gaze as he focused on Dean. "Didn't I tell you to run?" Shaking his head, he struggled to get to his feet. "Humans ... you _never_ listen. Why _is_ that?"

His initial relief quickly vanished as he scowled. "You're welcome, Doc," he grumbled as he helped the Doctor steady himself on his feet. He glanced at the staircase which lead to the cellar. "What the hell _was_ that? You called it ... the Malus?"

"Long story," he replied. He rubbed his own forehead as he he met Dean's curious gaze. "That was merely one of its defense mechanisms. An attempt to shut down my higher level brain functions," he explained as he picked up the torch. "The Malus detected a threat with advanced telepathic abilities and chose that as its first strike."

"What's the second?"

He lowered his hand as he looked to Dean, prepared to respond. Almost instantly, his expression shifted from slight annoyance to alarm as he yelled, "_Get down!_"

"Huh?" Dean barely had time to process the order before the Doctor grabbed him by the flannel shirt and pulled him down as he dropped to the floor. The sound of something thunking into the wall above them followed. "What was th- "

"_RUN!_" he shouted as he gave Dean a push upwards.

At that point, Dean managed to get a (clear) look at what was behind him – a dark-haired man, dressed in a simple white button-down shirt and black pants, both not of this time period. His expression was blank and his hands were tightly gripped around an axe with a blood-drenched steel head. He ducked as the mysterious man swung it around again.

"Move!" He pushed the Doctor towards the doorway leading out of the kitchen.

As they neared the main door of the house, it slammed shut on its own. And it happened so suddenly, their feet slipped over the dusty floor when they attempted to stop before they hit it. Once there, Dean yanked the knob with all of his strength. It didn't budge. More than likely it was some sort of telekinetic force holding it closed. When the front door was no longer an option, they both searched for another exit.

"Goddamnit," Dean swore when no obvious alternative presented itself. His eyes widened as the axe-man materialized out of nowhere, with the weapon poised to strike as he charged towards them. "Doc, get down!"

The Doctor turned just as the human leveled his shotgun (seemingly) straight at him. Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder to discover the man had reappeared. "Wait! No!" he exclaimed. He heard the click as Dean depressed the trigger. He'd barely ducked to the floor as the shotgun blast rang out, and bits of rock salt rained down upon him. Teeth gritted, he lifted his head. As he'd expected, the weapon had no effect on their pursuer.

Eyes wide, Dean lowered the gun. "What the f - " he whispered, stunned as the man continued towards them. It didn't dissipate or show any sign of damage. How was that possible?

"Follow me!" The Doctor grabbed Dean by an arm. With only one path left open, he led them to the rotting staircase. At the top of the stairs, the Doctor paused to catch his breath as he glanced to the lower level. The man had vanished again.

"What the hell was_ that_?" asked Dean as he loaded another round into the shot gun. He met the Doctor's gaze. "Why didn't anything happen when I shot it?"

"It's a psychic projection," he answered as he glanced down each of the two corridors on the upper level. Surprisingly, this was a rather large farmhouse for a simple farmer. "Another of the defense mechanisms." He nodded to the gun in Dean's hands. "They won't be affected by that, either. They're real, but then they're not."

Before he could ask another question, Dean – and the Doctor – flinched at the sound of small arms fire. The wooden wall beside them splintered as a bullet embedded itself there. Another whizzed inches away from Dean's head. At the foot of the main staircase stood a completely different construct: a woman, dressed in more modern clothes - a common hunter's attire - armed with a handgun. A gun she now aimed and prepared to fire again.

"This way!" The Doctor pointed to the corridor on their left.

Dean shielded his eyes when the next bullet struck the wall much too close to his face. Wood nicked his cheek before he'd managed to fully protect himself. "Dammit," he muttered when he touched his face to discover a small amount of blood. When he looked down the steps, he could see her more clearly as she ascended; she looked familiar. He pushed it out of his mind as he followed the Doctor down the hall.

They came to a halt in the middle of the corridor. A few rooms lined both sides but every door they tried was securely shut. More gunfire struck precise spots on the floor, not very far away from their feet. Only one door, at the very end of the hall, was open.

"Come on!" the Doctor ordered, motioning to the end of the corridor.

Dean paused long enough outside of the room to fire a round of his own. The woman appeared to absorb the rock salt, and her stride never wavered as she continued to march forward. Quickly, he ducked into the room. After he did, the door loudly slammed shut behind him. He hadn't done it. And the Doctor was in the middle of the almost empty room.

"I think we just fell into somebody's trap," he muttered as the Doctor looked to him. They'd been herded here. That's why they managed to survive both attackers, especially the armed woman. He whirled around and smashed his foot into an oversized wardrobe which was situated beside the door in aggravation. He grabbed the knob and threw all of his weight against the door. Like the one downstairs, it refused to budge. "Goddamnit. Something's holding it shut."

"The Malus' psychokinetic energy can be neutralized with the proper counter-frequency," the Doctor calmly replied as he returned to the door. He flicked the screwdriver on and readjusted its settings. "It must've shifted when its attack on me failed." He scanned the area of the lock.

"If you do get it open, then what?" Dean asked. "We still have the American Psycho and Quickdraw McGraw to get past. Since we can't do any damage to'em, how do we do _that_?"

"One problem at a time."

"What if they materialize in the middle of the room and kill us?"

"It must need us for something, or that would've happened by now."

Dean's fingers drummed against the shotgun. After a few more moments of fidgeting, he said, "That woman out there, I've seen her somewhere before."

"You said a lot of your kind visited this place over the years, yes?" The Doctor shifted to a new setting. When Dean nodded, he continued. "The Malus can call upon the form of any being whose psychokinetic energy it's sampled. It's a ... ghost, with substance. And, until I discover a way to disable the current defense, they're the least of our worries."

Letting out a frustrated breath, Dean moved across the room and peered through the single window, which still had its glass intact. Just below, about five feet down from the window's sill, was an awning. Not big, but it would be a decent buffer between a body and the ground. If it held.

"Why don't we go out the window?"

The Doctor glanced over a shoulder. "We'd never get back inside. The Malus has initiated a lockdown, it's protecting itself."

He turned away from the window, another thought occurring to him. "What about Martha?"

"What about her?"

"Can these ... projections leave the house?"

"Their range is limited to the amount of power the Malus currently possesses. And that, I don't yet know."

He slowly approached the Doctor. "And if it _has_ enough power to get out?"

He paused in his work and turned at the waist to look at Dean. "After my last encounter with one of these, I adjusted the TARDIS' defenses to react accordingly, if a similar energy attempted an invasion." He changed the setting and faced the door again. "Martha is in absolutely_ no _danger as long as she's inside the ship."

Dean's eyes narrowed at the back of the alien's head. "For your sake, you'd better hope you're right, Doc."

Eyebrows arched in curiosity, the Doctor looked back at him. "For _my_ sake?"

"If something happens to her, it's _your_ fault."

"I'm acutely aware of the fact, thank you." He didn't like the look in the human's eyes. He'd seen it before ...

"Good."

-

Martha heavily sighed as she checked her watch. The Doctor and Dean had been gone for nearly twenty minutes, yet it seemed as though it'd been -hours- She dropped her arm to her side and shifted her attention to the monitor. A collection of strange symbols surrounded a fluctuating line on its screen. She'd no idea what it meant. Was it good? Bad? No matter? The Doctor hadn't explained anything to her, just dashed off into the unknown. Leaving her behind.

Loudly exhaling, she paced back and forth, her arms folded across her chest. She hated feeling so utterly useless. While they confronted a more than possibly evil alien menace, she sat twiddling her thumbs "guarding" the TARDIS. This ship, she knew well enough by now, did not need to be protected. It actually protected _them_. Which made her angry all over again.

She would've felt better if she were there, _with_ him. It wasn't that she didn't trust Dean to do as he'd promised, it just wasn't his responsibility. She recalled the Doctor's reminder of the fail-safe should anything happen to him. From that, she knew it was a serious situation; he'd only brought it up once before, merely to assure her she would never be stranded if he'd -

Quickly, her mind shifted away from the thought. She didn't want to consider losing him, she had to look beyond herself, at any rate. The idea of Dean surviving and not the Doctor, for him only to be returned to Earth at the end of his last year, it was terribly unfair. He deserved what time he had left, and deserved to be returned to his brother.

She looked to the console again. She'd had a few flying lessons. If she could sort out how to properly pilot the craft, she could make sure Dean went home, where he belonged. Moving to the other side, she punched a button on the keyboard.

"Must be some sort of manual in this thing," she murmured. The screen changed but it wasn't of any help. The information, whatever it was, was still in the language only the Doctor could understand. "This is mad," she sighed in frustration. As she stood straight, she drew in a sharp breath, surprised to discover she wasn't alone in the TARDIS.

At the top end of the ramp stood a young woman, rather thin and of average height. Her long, loose black hair veiled most of her face and upper body. She was clothed in a fairly skimpy, tattered white dressing gown which fell just above her knees. Upon closer inspection, Martha saw distinct bruising about her neck.

"Who are you?" she asked once she found her voice. "How did you get in here?"

The woman's head lifted and Martha involuntarily stepped back when she could clearly see her face. Skin, almost sallow in color, against eyes so dark they appeared as pools of black. The shift in light perspective also allowed her to notice the glisten of a wound on the woman's forehead, near her hairline. Fresh blood.

The instinct to render aid immediately overrode her fear. Concern replaced revulsion. She took a few steps forward. "Are you all right?" she calmly asked.

"No."

The response was so cold, it sent a chill down Martha's spine. Still, she closed the distance between them, but not completely. As she moved forward, those empty, black eyes followed her. "If you're injured, I can help. I'm a doctor," she continued. She held up her hands in a non-threatening manner. "See? Nothing to harm you with." She nervously smiled. "Could you tell me what's happened to you?"

Her head tilted to one side, her expression a mix of suspicion and annoyance. "No."

Martha swallowed hard then pressed her lips together. Just then, she'd noted how cold the console room had become since the woman's appearance. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. Stimulation of the arrector pili; if it was from the cold or not, she wasn't sure. "Please, let me examine you. I might be able to help."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

The woman's head tilted in the opposite direction. "Because ..." she started, her voice low. "You're going to die. Just like the others."

Her eyes widened. "What - " She couldn't say another word, though. It was cut off by a gasp as the woman came straight for her.

-

Reclined against the wall just beside the window, Dean stared outside. From here, the TARDIS was _so_ close, maybe fifty feet or a little more. If this was some twisted taunt on the part of the Malus, he hadn't decided. At the moment, he leaned towards "yes". On the opposite side of the room, the Doctor continued to use the sonic screwdriver on the door. He'd been at it for nearly ten minutes.

"I don't think that's gonna work, Doc," he evenly said.

The Doctor sighed as he sat back on his heels then looked over his shoulder. "And what would _you_ suggest we do?" he asked, frustrated. "_Blast_ our way out? Is that it?"

He jerked a thumb to his right. "I still vote for the window."

"I'll get it sorted," the Doctor grumbled as he faced the door.

"You've been sayin' that since I met you, man," Dean snorted. "Almost been killed five times already. Two of'em were _your_ doin'." He waved a hand around, indicating the room. "Now I'm trapped in Hill House, more than likely gonna _die_ here, and why? Because you don't listen to anyone besides yourself. It's a wonder you've lasted as long as you have, pullin' stupid shit like this."

The Doctor resisted the urge to roll his eyes before he looked over his shoulder again. "Are you quite finished?"

"No. I might not be as smart as you, but I know we're in real trouble. Trouble we're not gettin' out of with a flashy penlight." He took a few steps closer. "So I say we cut our losses, climb out the window and forget this place before this thing decides we're better off dead." A pause. "Some us in this room ain't immortal ... Doc."

"Your comments are duly noted," he tightly replied. He readjusted the settings.

"Would you forget that?!" Dean almost shouted as he came up behind him. "If it hasn't worked yet, it's not _gonna_ work!" He waited. When the Doctor ignored him, he shook his head. "Do you _ever_ listen to anyone else?"

Sitting back on his heels, the Doctor looked up to him. "Do _you_?" he snapped.

"As much as you don't like it, you gotta admit defeat," he said, more calmly. "We screwed up and we're screwed. So eighty-six the science shit and let's get the hell outta Dodge."

"I can't leave the Malus to prey on innocent humans," the Doctor firmly stated. "Not when I know I can stop it."

"No one gets killed unless they're dumb enough to come in here. Like _us_." Dean's eyes narrowed when the Doctor went back to work. "What _is_ this thing, anyway?"

As he let out a calming breath, he lowered the screwdriver as he faced Dean again. "The Malus is the first step in a three step invasion plan of the Hakolian Empire," he began. "It's a reconnaissance probe, dispatched to planets to gauge their psychokinetic energy potential."

"You've said that before, psychokinetic energy. What is it?"

"The sort of energy primitive creatures, such as humans, are in of overabundant supply – hate and fear," he answered. "The Hakolians developed technology to harness psychokinetic energy as a power source. Much like you lot have done with the atom. The Malus itself feeds off of it to function, which would explain the behavior of the humans who'd attempted to settle the area, including the owners of this house. It doesn't simply draw on the energy, it loops it back to the source, and creates a self-sustaining power supply." He glanced around the room. "Fortunately for Earth, the town of Evansville is far enough away to be useless to it. Their own fear of the house saved more than their lives – it saved the planet."

Dean considered it. Crazy as it sounded, it made sense. Those weren't normal ghosts in the house, and it definitely explained why the Native American refused to settle here. Superstitions were useful in certain situations. Then, there were the murders before the Churchills' ... and after.

"All right," he said after a pause. "How did this Malus get inside the house? The way you're talkin', it's something somebody's gonna notice. Especially if it's in the cellar."

"More than likely, it _was_ noticed. You said Churchill built the house himself?"

"His father, yeah."

"The Malus influences weaker minds in order to insure its survival."

"Huh?"

"It isn't _completely_ a machine, its as much a living being as it is a machine. Yet the Malus ... is pure evil."

"So it's like the Terminator? A cyborg?"

He shook his head. "No, it's nothing like a cyborg. The need to survive isn't a program, which makes its choices in doing so extremely ... unpredictable. And it's rather hideous in appearance, actually."

"Then how'd it get inside?"

"When Churchill's father unearthed and revived it, the Malus likely commanded its existence be kept a secret. Probably with promises of power for the human, if the orders were followed. The living consciousness allows it to negotiate with other beings, which makes it an effective probe. It can think, it can reason, it can devise stratagems."

"You said you had a run-in with one before. Where was that?"

"In 1985. Little Hodcombe, England, a small village in the countryside, infamous as the site of the bloodiest battle in their own Civil War," he replied. "The Malus there was awakened by a reenactment of the battle, held in observation of its anniversary." He shook his head. "Humans have the strangest customs." A shrug. "At any rate, most of the townspeople went quite mad. Those who didn't, they were vital in its defeat."

"Why two probes? Is that the SOP of the Hakolian Empire?"

"No." He faced the door again. "When the one in England fell dormant for so many centuries, the Hakolians must've assumed it was destroyed and sent another. This time, to the other side of the world. Thanks to the native peoples here, it remained just as inactive."

"Then Churchill comes along ... it wakes up."

"Exactly." The Doctor paused. It'd just struck him this was the longest he'd spoken with Dean and had not been utterly annoyed by him. Honestly, he was rather impressed with Dean's responses to his explanations. Perhaps there was more to this particular human than he'd initially assumed ...

"Okay," Dean sighed as he scratched his head, thoughtful. "If this thing's been active for thirty years, where's step two? Why haven't these guys showed up for _Independence Day_?"

His shoulders slumped as his expression shifted from concentration to remorse. "The Hakolian Empire no longer exists," he quietly stated. "A casualty of the Time War. There is ... no one left _to_ invade."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Dean averted his gaze, he didn't like the look on the Doctor's face when he'd said that. The more he learned about this so-called "Time War", the more he wondered exactly what the Doctor had done to destroy his enemies and survive. If whole _cultures_ were wiped out, what the hell kind of firepower were these people packing? For the first time since he'd met the Doctor, Dean was truly _scared_ of him. What else could this guy do, if given the chance?

When it appeared the human had no further queries, the Doctor went back to his work. Less than a minute later, his concentration was broken by Dean's voice.

"Hey, Doc? There's one final thing buggin' me about this," he murmured. He looked down at the Doctor. "The Churchills are long gone, you said the town's too far away to be useful, it's been killin' just about everyone who comes here, so ... how's it still running?" His brow furrowed, curious. "Shouldn't it be outta gas by now? Where's the energy source? What's it drawing its power from?"

The Doctor blinked, stunned the obvious hadn't occurred to him. An excellent question, he had to admit. And one he didn't have an answer for. What source could've possibly fueled the Malus for over thirty years? Fortunately, before he was forced to voice his uncertainty, a small thump caught his attention. As well as Dean's.

Dean pressed a finger to his lips as he took a step backwards, closer to the oversized wardrobe, the one piece of furniture left in the room. Another light thump made him lift the shotgun, his finger positioned to fire as he faced the doors – one wasn't completely secured. He glanced at the Doctor, who'd risen to his feet and now wore a curious expression.

After an internal count to 'three', Dean caught the edge of the unlatched door with the toe of his boot and threw it open. As soon as he saw what was inside, he slowly lowered the gun until the barrel pointed to the floor.

"_Jesus_," he breathed, stunned.

-

End Chapter Nine


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

--

As the woman advanced on Martha, she backed away. Panicked, she glanced around, desperate for something with which to defend herself. On the console, she spotted Dean's 9MM. It had no ammunition, but the other woman didn't know that. With no options left, she grabbed it with both hands and leveled it on her attacker. "Don't make me use this!" she declared. She kept her fear under control the best she could – it wouldn't help her.

The woman stopped a few feet away from Martha, she seemed disoriented. Her hands went to the sides of her head as she uneasily swayed; her face twisted up in an expression of agony which quickly segued into one of confusion. As her hands gripped the TARDIS' console, she steadied herself. A moment later, she glanced around the room before she finally settled her gaze on Martha.

Martha, confused by the behavior, still aimed the gun at her.

"Where am I?" Her brow furrowed. "Who are _you_?"

She swallowed hard, but didn't let her guard down. The woman had attacked without provocation, this may've been a clever trick to throw her off. "Martha Jones," she evenly replied. "Who're you?"

The woman's head tipped back. "What _is_ this place?" she asked, voice filled with wonder. "How did I get here?"

"You tell me."

A hand touched her own temple. "The voice is gone," she mused. She shook her head, almost amazed. "It ... it has no power over me here." She looked to Martha. "Have I crossed over?"

She frowned, more baffled than ever. "What?" The gun lowered, yet not fully. "What do you mean, crossed over? And what has no power over you here?"

She walked away from Martha, her eyes taking in everything around her. "The monster which drives men insane," she answered. She shifted her attention to other woman. "Is this ... Heaven?"

Her mouth quirked. "No." It was odd. The woman spoke as though she were ... dead. Then a thought occurred to her. Carefully, she approached. "Are you ... Monica Churchill?"

"When I was alive," was the murmured response. Her hands brushed over the top of the console; her head tilted to one side as she regarded the display on the monitor. "If this isn't the other side, where is it?"

"You're in a TARDIS, it's a space ship," Martha explained. Hesitantly, she placed the 9MM on the seat, beside the Doctor's long coat. Then came the obvious question. "Monica ... are you a ... _ghost_?"

"Yes," she absently replied. Her pale fingers brushed over the monitor. It flickered at her touch, which made her quickly withdraw her hand. "A space ship ..." she sighed. "The world has changed so much ... _too _much." Her head lifted. "You are a friend of the two inside?"

She nodded, eagerly. "Are they all right?"

"For now." She leaned over and peered underneath the console. "Such a strange piece of machinery. How does it fly?"

"It's complicated," Martha shortly answered. She didn't want to talk about the ship, she wanted to find out what was going on with the Doctor and Dean. "Monica, why are you here? Why did you try to attack me?"

"It sent me to kill you." Her voice was so flat and devoid of emotion, it was creepy. She crossed to the other side of the console. "But it has no power over me here. It's why I'm ... me now. It can't make me do what it wants."

"What is ... _it_?" Martha carefully inquired. "Where did it come from? Do you know?"

"It isn't from this planet." She approached Martha. The living woman kept a distance between them, though. "It has great power. Power it uses to manipulate people, to make them ... do things, _horrible_ things." Her face turned more somber as a hand brushed over her bruised neck. "Things you would never _imagine_ them capable of doing."

"It made your husband murder you," Martha assumed. She wasn't entirely sure, though, it made sense.

Monica sadly nodded. "It ... needed me. He gave it whatever it wanted. He wasn't like that until his father died and he came into possession of the house ... " Her hand fell away from her neck. "Then ... he was so very different."

"Why did it 'need' you?"

"To keep it alive."

"How does murdering _you_ keep _it_ alive?"

"Energy. Energy only I could give if I were dead."

She still didn't completely understand. If the Doctor were here, he could probably make sense of it. If he believed this was actually the ghost of Monica Churchill, that is. He'd seemed very certain no such thing could possibly exist, not like what stood before her now. Yet this "being" wasn't from another dimension and it wasn't a projection, it was a sentient force.

"Others came to the house over the years," Martha began, changing the subject. "Some vanished, some didn't. Why did certain ones vanish?"

"They posed a threat to its existence. They came too close to what keeps it alive."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "You just said _you_ kept it alive."

"I do."

Martha bit her lower lip as she considered what it could possibly mean. She pushed it aside when another thought occurred to her. "Two people were almost killed in the house, yet they managed to escape. With a woman's help." She noticed the expression on Monica's face change. "Was ... that you?"

"Yes."

"Why did you help them but not the others?"

Monica approached the seats, her curiosity about the ship still distracted her. A hand brushed over the Doctor's coat. "For a few moments, it had no control over me. Like now. I could do as I wished." She turned away, her head tilted back as she gazed upwards. "I wished to save their lives, not help to take them."

"Why only those two? What was different about them?"

"The monster feeds on fear. On hate. Their emotions were different. It helped weaken its control." She pivoted on a bare heel to face Martha again. "It was long enough to allow me to save them from its own killers."

Martha turned away as she absorbed all of the information. An emotion more powerful than hate or fear could weaken whatever this thing's was power. Exactly which emotion was it? Dean hadn't mentioned anything of that nature when he'd spoken of his father's escape. Maybe he didn't even know?

"Monica ..." She paused as she faced her. "My friends and I want to find this monster and stop it from hurting more innocent people. Would you help me to help _them_?"

She shook her head. "If I leave here, it will take control again." She saw the disappointment in Martha's eyes. "It will not kill them. Not immediately." She came closer. "It has an interest in the one it calls 'Time Lord'."

"The Doctor," Martha supplied. Off of Monica's confusion, she added, "The Time Lord, his name is the Doctor. What does it want with him?"

"To kill him."

She blinked. The bluntness of the reply had thrown her a bit. Then again, what would the Doctor mean to a woman who died in the 1950s on Earth? "Why? Do you know?"

"Time Lords are an enemy of its homeworld."

Not much of a surprise. The Doctor himself seemed to make more enemies than friends on their varied trips. Not as though he wasn't justified in stopping their actions, it simply made him unpopular throughout the universe. "What about the other? The human?"

"He has potential."

"Potential? For what?"

"To be of use. None of the others had even half of his fear. Or his hate."

Martha didn't want to ask exactly what that meant. Instead, she focused on how to save them from their current situation.

"He also has knowledge."

"The Doctor?"

"No. The other."

Martha blinked. "Dean?"

"Like so many who came before him, he knows how to remove its power."

She couldn't quite believe it. At first. And then she put together the puzzle pieces in her mind – the murders of those who'd 'gotten too close', what it was that allowed a ghost to cling to the physical world after death, and how people like Dean removed that anchor. "There's a ... piece of your corpse still in the house, isn't there?"

A nod. "Near the monster itself. It guards it.."

The Doctor had said the energy readings originated within the house – the sub-level. Those who'd managed to make it to the sub-level, they were attacked and subsequently killed. Tommy Jacobs definitely had been there, he'd even seen the "monster in the wall". Dean's father must've had the same experience.

"We have to get down there and ..." What did they do, the hunters? She racked her memories of her discussion with Dean at the diner earlier that day. " ... salt and burn it," she finally finished when it came to her. She looked to Monica. "If you're released, it loses its power, yes?"

"It has alternatives."

"If you help me, we can make certain it doesn't have the opportunity to use the alternatives."

"I've told you, as soon as I leave here - "

"You've broken free before," she interrupted as she faced the ghost. "You can do it. You're stronger than this thing, whatever it is. Do you know why?" Monica shook her head. "_You_ control your emotions. If it feeds off of your hate and your fear, then you don't _allow_ it have it."

"But I ... can't ..." she sadly replied as she bowed her head. "These feelings ... this _rage_ ... " Her hands balls into fists, then slowly released them. "It's all I have ... it's all I know ..."

"You can do it," she said as encouragingly as possible as she approached. "You didn't feel that way when you helped Tommy Jacobs, or Dean's father, did you?" She looked into the dark eyes. More than hate was in them, she could see easily see it. "Remember how you felt when you chose to help them – you can do this, Monica."

The pale specter nodded. "I'll try," she murmured.

"You _can_," Martha firmly said. She paused as she looked at the Doctor's coat. She didn't know what to expect inside the house, and his coat pockets held surprisingly useful things for most any situation. Matches or a cigarette lighter would be quite helpful. No time to spend searching through them, however. She grabbed it and turned to Monica. "Let's go."

Once outside of the TARDIS, Martha was sure to lock the doors before she faced the Churchill house. As Dean did earlier, Martha noticed how disturbing its outer appearance was. It was ... creepy. Horror film creepy. Yet this was no horror film, this was _real_. She couldn't be frightened – fear _fed_ this ... monster, gave it its power. She wouldn't let it have hers.

"Are you all right?" she asked as she turned toward Monica. The ghost stood rigid beside her as she stared at the house. "Monica?"

She shifted her gaze to the living woman. "Yes," she distantly replied. "I'm ... fine."

An eyebrow raised. "Just ... focus on our job." She hesitated then carefully ascended the rickety porch steps. Once she reached the door, she tried to push it open. Using her shoulder, she gave it more force. "It's stuck," she reported when it refused to budge.

"No, it's not." Monica seemingly appeared out of nowhere beside Martha. She lifted a hand to the door and the hinges loudly squeaked as it opened. "Your friends are trapped in the second level." She pointed directly ahead, into the darkness of the house. "The monster ... is this way."

"Are you able to help them escape the upper level?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Monica's head tilted to one side before she looked to Martha. "They should be free to leave the room now," she stated. "Follow me." She headed into the house. "I will take you to ... it."

Martha drew in a deep breath then did so. She could control her fear, she could do this. She glanced at the staircase which led to the second level. No sign of either Dean or the Doctor. She didn't dare call out. Instead, she crossed the main room and passed into the adjoining one, where Monica waited for her.

"Here." The ghost lifted an arm and pointed to the already open door on Martha's left. "It's in the cellar."

Her jaw tightened as she nodded. She sifted around in one of the coat pockets and brought out a torch. After she turned it on, she directed the beam of light to the floor. "Someone's been here," she commented upon seeing two sets of footprints in the dirt and dust. She shifted her attention to Monica. "I thought they were in the upper level?"

"They are," she replied. "The monster drove them there with ... ghosts of its own. To keep them out of the way, until it was ready. I was to make sure they couldn't leave."

Martha stared at the pale form for a few moments. She had a terrible feeling about this, yet she couldn't run away. She had to face the fear. If she didn't, the Doctor and Dean would more than likely die. She couldn't let that happen. Her gaze shifted to the dark abyss beyond the open doorway, and she released a long breath.

"All right, then. Let's go."

Carefully, she entered the darkness.

-

In the second story room of the house, Dean knelt down as the Doctor shone the torch light on the inside of the wardrobe. Crumpled into a filthy, bloodied ball was a ginger-haired teenaged girl. She moaned as the light hit her face but she barely moved.

"It's the missing girl," the Doctor murmured.

"No shit, Doc," Dean muttered as he shook his head. The jackass didn't need to state the goddamn obvious. He gently touched the young girl's arm. Immediately, she used whatever strength she had left in her to recoil. "It's all right," he quietly assured her. "We're here to help you. Can you stand?"

"No ..." was the weak response. Her eyes opened a little more, yet she continued to squint at the flashlight's beam. "I can't ... I'm ... tired ..."

The Doctor noticed the dried blood within the wardrobe itself. So much. The girl was hanging onto life by sheer willpower. It never ceased to amaze him how strong humans could be, even under the most dire of circumstances. They were undoubtedly indomitable.

"I'm gonna pick you up," Dean calmly explained as he moved closer. "You lemme know if something's wrong, okay?" He'd no idea the extent of her injuries, only that she wasn't in terrific shape. She needed medical attention as soon as possible. He knew just where she could get it, too.

"Mmm ..." she mumbled in reply.

As carefully as possible, he slipped one arm around her back and the other underneath her legs. As he rose to his feet, the Doctor backed away but kept the light on the girl. Once she was out of the wardrobe and into the bright moonlight, they had a clearer picture of her physical state. She'd been slashed by something. It didn't look like any sort of claw to Dean or the Doctor – this was a knife blade. As pale as she was, the blood loss was extensive.

After he performed his own cursory medical exam, the Doctor looked to Dean. "If she doesn't receive care soon, she won't survive much longer," he stated.

Dean glanced at the girl. She seemed too out of it to comprehend what was being said. Still, he didn't like the cool tone in which he'd spoken. "We have a _real_ doctor back at the ship," he shortly replied. "First, we find a way to get her out of that window _without_ killing her." He met the Doctor's gaze. "Unless you have objections to leavin'?"

"The girl is our immediate concern," he conceded. As much as he did not want to leave the Malus, the girl's life was infinitely more important. "I'm sure you already have the _perfect _plan in mind?" he assumed, and the sarcasm not lost on Dean.

Resisting the urge to get into it with him, Dean instead searched for something which could be useful in getting Athena Reynolds safely to the ground, without further damage. His jaw tightened when nothing presented itself. "You have any ideas?" He avoided eye contact with the alien, he didn't want to see the bastard smirking. He waited then turned. "Doc?"

The Doctor was focused on the door. He moved forward – slowly - then reached out for the knob. Before he touched it, he glanced back at Dean. "The door is no longer secured," he said in a low tone.

"Finally, a friggin' break! Let's get the hell outta here."

He raised a hand, stopping Dean in his tracks. "Haste is exactly what put us in this situation," he admonished. "That was _my_ misjudgment," he quickly continued before Dean could debate the point. "I won't make the same mistake twice."

"For this kid's sake, we're gonna have to take a chance." He pushed by the alien and used a foot to kick the already cracked door fully open. After he checked the hallway, he glanced to the Doctor. "It's clear. Let's move."

"We should consider this more carefully -" the Doctor began, but Dean was gone before he could finish his thought. With a heavy, annoyed sigh, he followed. As he caught up with Dean at the bottom of the staircase, they both came to a halt. "Something isn't right about this - " He noticed the front door itself was wide open. "Not at all."

He shrugged. "It dropped its guard. Too bad for the killer alien probe. Great for us. Come on." He quickly crossed the open room and stepped onto the porch. They were free! They'd save this poor girl's life, then they could get away from the place. Far, far away. A couple of decades. The sound of the sonic screwdriver's trilling caught his attention. He turned. "What're you doing?"

The Doctor, who stood in the doorway now, shook his head. "The energy levels haven't diminished," he murmured. He lowered the device, a curious expression on his face. "They've _increased_. It hasn't lost power, it's _gained_ it. How?" A hand ran through his hair as he frowned, beyond frustrated with this mystery. "What's changed?"

"Dude, who the hell _cares_?" Dean jerked his head in the direction of the TARDIS when the Doctor turned around. "We can worry about this shit later." Without waiting, he headed for the ship. "We catch a lucky break and all he can do is stand around and wonder _why_?" He glanced at Athena. She was barely conscious. "I promise you, kid, you're gonna make it."

-

With the torch beam illuminating the creaky wooden steps as each foot planted itself firmly before taking on her weight, Martha descended the staircase. Her free hand slid along the cold stone which made up the walls on either side of her. As she neared the foot, the odd aroma of sunflowers had become fairly overpowering. She'd not noticed any of them around the house or even the town itself, so why did the cellar smell like them?

"Monica?" Martha's feet hit the hard floor at the bottom of the stairs. She quickly flashed the beam of light to her left then to her right. At first glance, the cellar appeared to be empty. "Hello?" she called, softly.

Abruptly, she stopped the beam as it illuminated a sizable, rust-like discoloration on the floor and wall directly across from the staircase. When she realized what it was, the odor made sense – the sunflowers. Terribly old blood smelled similar to them. Until then, she'd never had the opportunity to verify the disturbing factoid she'd heard from a fellow medical student.

A noise to her left caught her attention and she turned. "Monica?" she asked, her voice shaking a little. Finally, the torch's beam unveiled the pale face in the endless black. She let out a relieved breath, her shoulders relaxed. "You scared me," she whispered. "I thought you'd - " Her brow furrowed. "Monica?"

Before she received a reply, Martha was thrown back against the far wall and firmly held there by an invisible force. She tried to lift her arm, but it was useless. She could barely even breathe because of the immense pressure against her chest. What was it? It wasn't a person – this sensation enveloped her entire body, not specific areas.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with light from above. In the middle of the sub-level's ceiling was a simple bulb, hanging freely by its decades old electrical wiring. How it was even on, she didn't know. Her thoughts left the mystery above as she noticed Monica. The ghost stood near the blood-spattered wall which, as the new light revealed, bore a large, jagged-edged hole in it. That wasn't all that was on the other side of the room.

Martha's eyes widened. Blood spatter patterns were everywhere. However, there were no remains of whatever, or whoever, had caused it. Just the bloodstains were left, some of which were old; others ... were more fresh. Her heart skipped a beat as she settled her gaze on the ghost. Monica wore the same expression as when she'd first appeared inside the TARDIS. The "monster" must've taken control of her.

"Monica ..."

"This is the one who presents a threat," the ghost evenly said. She slowly turned her head, her eyes affixed to the hole in the wall to her right. "Yes," she continued after a pause. "She controls her fear too well. Should I kill her?"

"Monica," Martha called out. "You can fight it! You're _stronger _than this!" She hesitated when the black eyes leveled on her. She struggled against the invisible bonds which held her to the wall. "Please. I need your help! _Don't let it control you!_"

Her head titled to one side. "I serve willingly," she coldly replied. She paused, as though listening to someone else speak. "It needs you alive. You will bring the Time Lord and be useful against him."

"You don't want to do this," she pleaded. She glanced at the hole, wondering what Monica kept referring to there. "You told me you wanted to _help_."

The ghost 'listened' again, then nodded. "Yes, I will." She raised a hand to Martha, turned it palm up then gestured. The same telekinetic force which kept Martha imprisoned removed the Colt revolver from the left-hand pocket of the Doctor's coat. The spirit's fingers curled around the weapon as soon as it hit her hand. She held it up between them. "Is this what you want?" she inquired. After a moment, there was another nod. "Yes."

Martha watched as Monica approached the hole. "What're you doin' with that?"

"It needs it." She crouched down and placed the gun on the floor, behind the bottom of the crumbled wall. A crooked grin on her face, she peered over her shoulder. "To kill the Time Lord."

Fear for her own life forgotten, concern for the Doctor's overrode all else. "_What_ needs it?" she angrily demanded. The ghost only continued to smile as she slowly rose to her feet. She flicked her gaze to the hole in the wall. "What are you?" she almost shouted. "Show yourself! Or are you afraid to let me see who you are? Is that it? Are you _scared_?"

A low rumble behind the wall caused bits of dust and rock to rain down around the opening. Her body tensed when she saw movement in the darkness. Soon, two bright green orbs – about head high – appeared within it. As the mysterious "monster" moved forward, her heart raced faster, her adrenaline pumped through her veins in guarded fear. Until ...

"Oh, my God," she gasped. Her mouth dropped open in shock (and horror). "What the hell _are_ you?"

-

End Chapter Ten


	11. Chapter 11

(AN: Again, I swear to God and all that is holy, I wrote this **_BEFORE_** most of series four _Doctor Who_ ever transmitted, especially the finale. You'll know what I'm referring to when you see it. -crosses heart and hopes to get zapped by lightning if she's lyin'-)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

--

At the TARDIS, the Doctor unlocked the door and rushed into the ship. "Martha, we need your help!" he called. No immediate response. He stopped just short of the console and searched the room for his companion. "Martha?" he called again, louder.

"Maybe she's in another room?" Dean suggested as he carefully placed the Reynolds girl on the seats opposite the console.

"She wouldn't have left here," the Doctor firmly replied, shaking his head. "She knows how important this is." He abruptly halted as he spotted Martha's red jacket still draped over the railing. Briefly, his mind flashed back to a jacket of Rose's, in almost the exact same spot. Just after ... well, what had only recently happened in Dean's own timeline. His sadness quickly gave way to a familiar panic. "_Martha!!_"

Dean watched him sprint to the door leading to the rest of the ship. Never had he seen the Doctor like this – not even they were damn near obliterated by an asteroid. Or either of the two times this piece of crap ship almost crashed. He truly thought _nothing_ could get to the guy, which made him even more alien than he already was.

"Where is she?" The Doctor ran both of his hands through his hair. "She _couldn't_ have left. No. She wouldn't do that." His muttering ceased when he saw something. Rather what he _didn't_ see. He dashed to the seats, where Athena Reynolds rested, looked behind them then searched the surrounding area. "My coat is missing."

"What, you think she took it?"

"It doesn't matter. What _does_ is finding her."

"Maybe she went into the house? We've been gone a while. She must've come lookin' for us."

"Then we go back," he firmly stated as he headed for the doors.

"Hey!" Dean caught him by the arm before he could leave. "Let's get this kid to a hospital. I don't know how much longer she's gonna last. Martha would want us to take care of _her_ first." He saw no change in the Doctor's expression. "Look, we'll help the kid, then jump back and stop Martha from leaving -"

"No, we most certainly cannot ... 'jump back'," the Doctor shortly interrupted as he pulled his arm from the human's grasp. "As soon as the TARDIS landed here, I became part of events. If I stopped her, I would alter my own timeline, and it isn't allowed. I've only one option – find Martha _now_," he added as he continued down the ramp. "With or without _your_ help!"

Dean glanced back at the girl. He'd did everything _he_ could to tend her wounds, but he wasn't a doctor. He'd no idea how to make the ship fly, either, so taking her himself was out. The only choice was to help the Doctor. With them both searching, it'd definitely go a lot faster. Martha's medical knowledge improved Athena Reynolds' chances. Then he'd promised _her_ he'd keep an eye on this son of a bitch.

"Wait, Doc!"

Upon hearing Dean's voice, the Doctor stopped on the porch, just outside of the farmhouse's main door. He wasn't surprised Dean had decided to help, but he _was_ by the fact the boy didn't tote a weapon of some sort. "Lose your trusty rifle, did you?" he coolly commented, nodding to Dean's empty hands. With that, he vanished inside of the house.

"Goddamnit," he swore when he realized he'd left his shotgun in the upstairs room. He was so concerned with the Reynolds girl, he'd forgotten about it. No way in hell was he going back, either. Give the Malus another chance to trap him? _Fuck that_. Ahead of him, inside the house, he heard the trill of the Doctor's sonic device. As Dean entered, the Doctor lowered it and focused on the flashlight's beam on the filthy floor.

"Third set of tracks," Dean commented as he brushed a hand over Martha's shoe prints. His eyes followed them into the kitchen. "Only one place she could've gone." He motioned ahead as he rose to his full height. "Doc?" He was gone. The sonic screwdriver trilled again and he realized the alien was already there.

"There's a second energy source below, one my earlier scans didn't reveal," the Doctor reported when Dean joined him. He frowned. It wasn't a reading he was familiar with. And he'd seen everything. "It must be the one which has kept the Malus awake the past thirty years." He flicked off the device and continued to stare at the floor, thinking.

"What's wrong?"

As he snapped out of his daze, he looked to Dean. "It's nothing," he assured, more charismatic than before, along with a smile. He turned to the open door which led to the sub-level. Yet he didn't move.

"Where are this thing's guards?" Dean wondered as he glanced around the kitchen.

He didn't like not having a weapon, even if it had no effect on the Malus' projections. He felt exposed. Feeling exposed made him nervous. Uncomfortable, even. More so than usual, since he was dealing with an alien probe that used hate and fear as a power source. This outer space shit wasn't _his_ world. He never thought in a million frigging years he'd ever miss what he knew, what he could understand, what he -

"They won't come," the Doctor replied, his voice low again. "We're expected." He took a step forward but jerked when Dean grabbed his shoulder. "What?"

"I should go first."

"Why?"

"I'm expendable," he matter-of-factly replied. When the Doctor only stared at him, he sighed. "If something's going to happen to one of us, it should be me. You know what you're dealin' with down there, I don't. Either way, I've got nothin' left to lose. Maybe if I buy it in the past, I'll avoid Hell?" He offered a weak, unconvincing smile. "There's a chance, right?"

After a lengthy hesitation, the Doctor finally stepped back. "It's your choice."

"Damn right it is." He plucked the flashlight from the Doctor's hands then faced the darkened doorway. After a deep breath, he moved forward. Behind him, he heard the Doctor's light footfalls. Soon, the lightbeam ran out of stairs and brightened the stone floor. Suddenly, he stopped.

"What is it?" the Doctor asked in a hushed voice.

"It's cold." Dean had felt a chill like this on countless occasions. It only meant one thing. To him.

"That's to be expected."

"Not like this." He refused to move despite the Doctor's attempts to get by him. He didn't like it. Something was definitely wrong here. "Warm as it was today and still is now?" He shook his head. "This ain't on." The beam of light traveled up and down the rest of the area before it paused on single bulb, hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. "Doubt that still works."

"Leave it to me." The Doctor removed his screwdriver from his pocket as he quickly slipped by Dean. He waved it over the wiring until the bulb came to life. His accomplished grin quickly vanished when he found Martha crumpled in a ball on the opposite side of the room. "No ..."

Dean turned just as the Doctor knelt beside the young woman, examining her. "She okay?"

"She's breathing, pulse is steady and strong," he replied. He tenderly pressed the palm of his right hand against one of her cheeks. She was alive. Just unconscious.

While the Doctor tried to rouse Martha, Dean focused on the strange hole in the other wall, the one directly opposite of the staircase. Old and fairly new blood stained the floor in front of it as well as the wall itself. He'd seen enough blood-spatter patterns in his life to know however these poor bastards had died, it wasn't pleasant. Suddenly, in the darkness, he saw movement.

"A monster in the wall," he murmured, recalling what Tommy Jacobs' had told his father. As he carefully approached, he heard something. Maybe a voice. The words were indistinct, though. His eyes narrowed as he came closer. As he did, the voice became more clear, but it wasn't originating from within the wall. It ... felt as though it was inside of his own head.

"Time Lord ..." it whispered, low and even. "Destroyer ... of ... worlds ... "

With a heavy sigh, the Doctor gave up on waking Martha. Better to move her back to the ship, out of the house, before something else happened. They had the Reynolds girl to consider as well, and she was in much worse condition than Martha.

"I'll need your help," he said as he gently leaned Martha's upper body against the wall. No response from the other side of the room. He turned. "Dean?" His brow furrowed. The human stood before the hole in the wall, with his back to him. "_Dean?_" he repeated, louder.

A rumbling beyond the wall shook the floor. The Doctor glanced around, curious and slightly alarmed, as bits of dust sprinkled down from the aged ceiling above as a result. Then, he saw something in the darkness. Soon after, a familiar green glow gave way to a menacing visage. What appeared to be a two and a half meters tall face carved in stone, which bore a striking resemblance to many depictions of Satan in human lore, was the Malus. Given such an awful appearance by the Hakolians for its effectiveness in inspiring fear in primitive beings.

Very slowly, the Doctor rose to his feet. A light, white steam seeped from the open "mouth" of the hideous probe.

"Dean, move away from there," he easily said. He didn't want to do anything to alarm the probe. Also, keeping his own tone calm would help Dean to do the same. Excitable and irrational, he was the type of human who was most susceptible to the powers of the Malus. "Now," he ordered, more firmly.

"It was you," Dean murmured. The sound of his voice was off, as though he wasn't quite himself. "_You_ destroyed the Hakolian planet."

The Doctor's face fell as he realized what exactly was happening. Not only had it taken control over Dean, but the Malus knew the truth of why no one had answered its call over the decades. "Dean, listen to me ..." he gently said as he took a few steps forward. He glanced at the Malus. "It's manipulating you, but you can_ fight_ it. If you do as I say and - "

He shook his head. "They weren't the only ones you wiped out, were they, Doc?" he continued, as though the Doctor hadn't said a word. His voice was completely devoid of emotion now. He pivoted on a heel and faced the alien, his expression blank. "More than them, more than the Daleks."

"Don't listen to it," he said as he moved forward again. He kept his hands up in a non-threatening manner. Dean wasn't armed, he knew, but he wasn't certain he could handle the human one-on-one. His Venusian aikido was more than a bit rusty ... "You don't know _why_ Hakol was destroyed. The reasons. It's ... complicated."

Behind the Doctor, Martha moved a little, then her eyelids fluttered open and the world slowly swam into focus. A hand rubbed the back of her head as she blinked a few times. She couldn't recall exactly what had happened. The last thing she did remember was that awful ... _monster_. And its voice inside of her head ... whispering ... taunting ... As she sat up, she became acutely alert upon seeing Dean and the Doctor. Just beyond them both, in the wall, was that _thing_. The thing which had turned Monica Churchill's ghost against her.

"Doctor?" She struggled to stand.

Inwardly relieved Martha had awakened on her own, the Doctor raised a hand, his eyes never leaving Dean's, and he motioned for her stay back. "The Malus has control of him, Martha," he explained before she could ask. "But he can fight it, if he concentrates. Do you hear me, Dean? You can escape, if you _try_."

"Did _you_ ever let anyone escape? The Markonians, the Devas, the Amnicans?"

"It was a _war_!" He looked to the Malus, doing his best to contain his growing impatience and anger. "You know as well as I do what happens in a war!" His hand balled into a fist as it dropped to his side. "The Hakolians were aiding the Daleks. Typical of your lot, that was." His voice rose with each sentence. "The Daleks were excellent procurers of hate and fear throughout the galaxies! The leaders of Hakol refused our diplomacy, their destruction was inevitable! We had to protect _the universe_!"

"What about the Charon?"

The Doctor's gaze flicked back to Dean, shocked. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The Charon. The Trifidians, the Eonocerans, the Velanese – the Time Lords wiped them out, too."

He blinked as he stepped back, as though he'd been physically punched in the stomach. Those races, they weren't part of the last Great Time War with the Daleks. They were opponents of the Time Lords' in Time Wars _prior_. Ones his people had waged with and without his own aid. The Malus did more than attempt to shut down his mind earlier – it had _scanned_ it.

"They tried to develop their own time travel technology. And when they did it, you erased them from existence. The Time Lords thought no one else deserved to have it. Murdered entire races because you thought _you_ were better than everyone else in the universe."

The Doctor pointed an accusatory finger at the Malus as he charged forward. "Let him go!" he ordered. He'd had enough of the probe using Dean as its mouthpiece. Speaking of Time Lord matters as though it had the right. He'd had enough of _it_, period. "_Do it_!" He came to an abrupt halt as Dean lifted his right arm. He found himself staring down the barrel of the Colt revolver. His gaze slid from it to Dean – the human's eyes were filled with hate. Hate which the Malus was feeding off of ...

The probe rumbled again.

"No ..." He shook his head as he looked at the Colt again. "That's impossible!" He turned to the Malus. "You _couldn't_ have realigned the wave pattern! It's beyond your capabilities!"

Martha's breath caught in her throat. If Dean pulled the trigger, it was over. Her panic swelled, and much faster than she anticipated. In fact, she found it was terribly difficult to control. She focused, as the Doctor had said, on keeping it in check. If _she_ fell under this thing's control as well ...

Shaking his head, a sinister gleam in his eyes, Dean chuckled. "You don't know _everything_, Doc."

"Leave him out of this!" the Doctor angrily commanded the Malus as he took two steps toward it, any concern for his own well-being forgotten. "This is between _us_, he has nothing to do with it! Let him go!" The probe rumbled its 'response' to his demands. "Because I'm _the Doctor_," he angrily shouted. "_that's WHY!_"

The Malus rumbled again, sounding more perturbed than before, as fresh steam poured from its carved mouth.

"You're dangerous," Dean coldly said as he curled his finger around the trigger. "You get innocent people _killed_. You ruin lives wherever you go." He shook his head. "I have to put a stop to it. It's my job to protect humans from monsters like _you_."

"That is _not_ your job!" Martha exclaimed as she rushed forward. She stopped when the Doctor raised an arm, to keep her away from Dean. "You're not a murderer!"

He slid his gaze to her. "It's only murder if it's human," he evenly replied. He shifted his attention to the Doctor. "And guess what?" He smirked. "You ain't human ... _Doc_." A thumb pulled back the hammer.

"_NO!_" Martha cried.

Before either she or the Doctor could do anything, Dean fired. To both's utter surprise, instead of the Doctor, the bullet struck the probe dead-center in its 'face' and an eerie electricity temporarily enveloped the whole of it. As it faded away, the green glow of the eyes dimmed and one final puff of white smoke drifted from the mouth.

Once he lowered the gun to his side, Dean looked to the Doctor and Martha. She stood just behind the alien, her mouth hanging open in astonishment. His expression, on the other hand, was more befuddled surprise.

"How ..." the Doctor managed to force out when he found his voice. "How did you ... what ..." He shook his head as he flicked his gaze between the Malus and Dean. "_What_?" His features contorted in confusion.

Dean grinned. "Wow. He's actually speechless."

Carefully, Martha approached. "Wait – you were simply playin' at being under ..." She nodded to the probe. "... that thing's control?"

He examined the Colt as he nodded. "Yep." He shrugged. "It gave me everything I needed to say, so I went with it." He looked to the Doctor, who was still perplexed. "Had you goin', huh, Doc?"

"But ... how did you manage?"

"Something you said earlier. And something else my dad told me." He lowered the Colt to his side as his smile faded. "You said this thing's living consciousness helped it to take control of people." He casually shrugged. "Resisting the voice wasn't difficult. Tried to play on my fears. It was like some demon trying to bullshit me, that's all."

"And your fear?"

"I've been controllin' my fear since I was five years old, Doc. When you're starin' down some of the stuff I have over the years, you master that pretty goddamn fast."

Martha glanced at the Doctor before she asked, "What did your father tell you?"

"He said ... " He paused as he remembered the look on John's face when he'd finally related the whole story to him. It took a lot for the old man to do it, he knew. Still, his doing so helped to keep Dean far away from the Churchill house over the years. Until today ... "Before the woman showed up, he said the only thing he could think of was Sam and me. Nothin' else."

Martha looked away. "A more powerful emotion," she murmured, recalling Monica's words. Of course that must've been the one! What was more powerful than hate or fear? And what was one of the strongest bonds of love? Family.

The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets as he cleared his throat. "I must say, I didn't give you enough credit," he casually commented. He avoided direct eye contact with Dean. "Well, I suppose I should -"

"You can apologize for being an asshole later," Dean cut in. He looked to Martha. "We found Athena Reynolds and she's in pretty bad shape." He motioned to his right. "The Doc and I left her back at the ship."

"Let's go then," Martha replied as she turned to head up the stairs. She froze dead in her tracks as the door slammed shut. The chill in the air strengthened. So much so, they could see their own breath as they exhaled. "Oh, no ..." She'd completely forgotten about the ghost herself.

All three spun around, startled, as the Malus rumbled, loudly. Its eyes glowed a deep red now and black smoke billowed from its mouth.

"I thought it was dead!" Dean exclaimed as he looked to the Doctor. "What the hell's goin' on?"

The wall began to crumble as the shaking intensified.

"I told you, the Malus is part living being, part _machine_," the Doctor called out over the noise. He shielded his head with his arms as bits of wood from the ceiling fell upon them. "You merely destroyed the living _consciousness_. The machine has assumed control!"

"What's it doin'?" Martha cried.

The probe rocked violently from side to side.

"The only thing it _can_ do -" He turned to the humans. "Self-destruct! It won't only kill us, but half of the planet as well!"

"Can't you stop it?!"

"If I knew what its power source was." He shook his head as he looked to the Malus once more. "I've never seen an energy pattern like the one currently sustaining it before."

"It can't friggin' explode, Doc!" Dean declared. He motioned to himself and Martha. "We're here! _We're_ from the future of this planet!"

"Time is complicated, and I certainly haven't any available to explain its intricacies to _you_!"

Suddenly, Martha gasped as she grabbed the Doctor's arm. "Monica!" she exclaimed, remembering. She flicked her excited gaze from him to Dean. "Monica Churchill's ghost! That's what the energy source is! _She's_ what's powering it! It's why her husband murdered her all of those years ago. It told him to, so it could have her energy!"

"What?!" the Doctor incredulously replied. She wasn't suggesting an actual _ghost_ was the reason the Malus managed to maintain consciousness all of these years. It was mad!

Though, in Dean's head, it made perfect sense. "She could be right." When the Doctor turned to him, he added, "Ghosts, they're basically concentrated psychokinetic energy. The more angry the spirit, the stronger its power is. Years of physical abuse must've really pissed her off. If we release her, the plug is out!"

"She said it guarded a piece of her body." Martha pointed to the shimmying Malus. "It must be just beyond the wall."

When the humans made a move for it, chunks of the stone wall crumbled around the probe, almost half burying it. If anything was there, it was underneath a considerable amount of debris. They'd never find it in time.

The red eyes began to flicker.

"Its countdown is almost finished," the Doctor evenly said. He'd never felt this way before. At least, not in ages. He'd absolutely no idea what he could possibly do to avoid the inevitable. Not exactly the end he'd imagined. Not for this current incarnation, at any rate.

"Come with me." A female's voice made the Doctor turn around. He found himself face to face with a battered, pale woman clothed in a white night dress. She had a hand extended to him. "I know what to do," she assured.

"Monica?" Martha was stunned. She was convinced the Malus had retained its hold over her.

Her gaze shifted to Martha. "I _choose_ to save you." Her hand gestured to the door at the top of the stairs and it swung open. "Go." She focused on the Doctor. "Leave the monster to me, Time Lord."

With that, the ghostly figure sprang forward and seemed to vanish into the probe itself. After a few seconds, it rattled even louder, but much differently than before. Then, a blast of black smoke from its mouth startled them. An odd mechanical shrill filled the room, one which increased in volume with each passing moment.

"She's overloading its systems," the Doctor explained once he realized exactly what the noise indicated. He gave the humans a hefty push towards the staircase. "It won't destroy half of the planet now, but the possibility of it leveling this structure is high." He looked to them. "_RUN!_"

It was a matter of seconds before they were up the flight of stairs, through the house and out of the front door. Almost as soon as they reached the outside of the TARDIS, a subterranean explosion violently shook the ground under their feet. The ship kept them from falling backwards, fortunately. To the Doctor's surprise, the farmhouse itself only shuddered until the reverberations subsided.

"And they say nothing built in America lasts," he commented, almost impressed.

"Is ... is it over then?" Martha cautiously asked as she looked from the house to him.

He removed his screwdriver from his pocket, raised it to the house and scanned the area. He waited then checked the results. "Nothing," he replied as he flicked it off. "Both of the energy readings are gone. The Malus is completely destroyed."

"You're _sure_ nothin's gonna wake it up?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It won't harm another innocent human again."

Quickly, Martha turned and rushed into the TARDIS.

Confused, the Doctor looked from the open doors to Dean. "What's that ab -" Then he remembered. As did Dean. Together, they sprinted after her.

"We'll be to the nearest hospital soon!" the Doctor called as he stopped on the far side of the console. Before Martha had the chance to respond, he was already hitting buttons.

Once the doors were closed, Dean joined Martha, who carefully analyzed the young girl's injuries. "What do you think?" he asked after a nervous hesitation. Were they too late? He'd been too late too many times before. Wasn't it enough he'd failed people in the present, but then he had to do it in the past? This kid had to make it. He needed something good to come out of this bullshit trip, anything.

"Multiple puncture wounds." A pause as she monitored the girl's heart rate. "She's tachycardic, typical response with a class two hemorrhage," Martha replied as she did her best to examine the girl with no proper instruments. "However, if she loses any more blood, she'll require a transfusion. It's miraculous she's survived this long," she added before she focused on her patient.

Dean studied the unconscious teenager; her breathing was considerably more labored than when he and the Doctor had first found her. "It's not a miracle," he evenly said, shaking his head. He met Martha's gaze when she paused to look up to him. "She's just not ready to die. She's not giving up without a fight."

"She's lucky as well," the Doctor announced as he threw down a lever. The dematerialization sound echoed throughout the ship. He turned to face the two humans. "She has _me_."

-

End Chapter Eleven


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

--

Arms draped over the back of the seat and his feet rested on the console, the Doctor reclined comfortably, his head tipped back as he gazed about the interior of the TARDIS. His fingers drummed against the seatback, his thoughts concentrated on his brush with his own mortality earlier.

Not so much about Death itself, he'd had thought on that more than enough over the centuries, but the final destruction of the Malus. No matter how many times he replayed the events in his mind, he couldn't apply a purely logical, scientific explanation to what had occurred. Whenever he thought he could, he recalled a detail which derailed it.

A projection of the Malus gone rogue? Impossible. Never in the history of the Hakolian Empire had such a thing happened. Mass hallucination? Also impossible. Humans experienced them at a much lower psychic frequency than a Time Lord. Definitely not a being from N-Space, either. They could not "choose" to do anything, free will was beyond their capabilities. What _was_ it, then?

The explanation was there, he just had to find it.

"Doctor?"

He blinked as a hand waved in front of his face. To his right, he found Martha and Dean; both stared at him, slightly concerned. "Hmm? What?" He dropped his feet to the floor as he sat up straight, pushing his previous thoughts aside. "Oh, yes! There you are!" He glanced between them. "How is the girl?"

"The attending was optimistic about her chances of a full recovery," Martha replied. Her head tilted to the left as she frowned. She'd called to him times before she'd snapped him out of his daze. What was going on in his head? She wanted to know, but didn't dare ask. Especially not with Dean in the room.

"You're quite sure?"

"We didn't stick around for a full report, Doc," Dean said. "They'll take care of her. We didn't want to get asked a bunch of questions we couldn't answer. Believe me."

"Right," the Doctor agreed as he hopped to his feet. His fingers punched several buttons on the panels in front of him. "Well, we'd better be off, before someone notices a police box in one of the supply closets."

He threw down a nearby lever and steady whir of dematerialization followed. Any troubles the TARDIS had earlier had been sorted, it seemed. The ship operated with as much accuracy and dependability as before. Still, it would've been nice to know exactly what had thrown them off course and into the time vortex.

"So ..." Dean began as the Doctor moved to the opposite side of the console. "Guess this means I go home now, huh?"

Strangely enough, he didn't _want_ to go back. Not just yet. His gaze settled on Martha, who had her back to him as she leaned forward against the console. One reason, well, it was pretty damn obvious. Martha Jones wasn't the typical woman he went for. Then again, women like her typically didn't hang out in dive bars along Route 70, either. Unless they were demon-possessed or something. And the _other_ reason ...

The Doctor looked to him respond but, instead, he focused on Martha. She mouthed words as she discreetly jerked her head in Dean's direction. He frowned as he tried to sort out what she attempted to pantomime. The third time she gestured with her head, she pointed to herself then to his side of the console. Finally, he understood and gave a small nod.

Casually, the Doctor tucked his hands into his trouser pockets as he rounded the console. "Well ... in light of your unexpectedly brilliant performance with the Malus, I believe you've earned your guerdon." He stopped in front of Dean, peering over the top rims of his glasses. "My unique way of saying ..." He tipped his head from side to side, his face contorted as he searched for the proper phrasing, before he shrugged. "Well, it isn't a privilege bestowed upon _every_ human I meet, let's say."

Dean blankly stared at him before he (uncertainly) asked, "You're not gonna kiss me, are you?" He gave the Doctor a quick once over then added, "Cause, you're a decent lookin' guy, Doc, but I don't swing that way."

Martha sighed as she buried her face in the palm of one of her hands. She shook her head, unable to believe what she'd just heard.

"Well -" The Doctor abruptly stopped when he realized exactly what Dean had said. His features twisted, incredulous. "_What_?! No!" he exclaimed as he took a step back from him. "Whatever would've given you _that_ idea?!"

Dean uneasily shifted in place as he shrugged. "She said you were _just friends_!" he shot back as he pointed to Martha. More irritated than embarrassed now, he continued, "How am I supposed to know? I don't understand half the shit you say as it is! 'Guerdon'. What the hell _is_ that?" He warily eyed the Doctor. "And, uh, in case you haven't noticed, you do act a little ..." He trailed off as he gestured with his hand.

"_WHAT?!_"

"Oh. My. _God_." Martha groaned as she covered her face with -both- hands. After releasing a breath, she tossed them up as she whirled around. The Doctor was more confused than ever and Dean was a cross between aggravated and uncomfortable. She had to fight to keep from laughing, actually. "Look, what the Doctor _means_ is ... he wants to offer you a trip. As a way of saying _thank you_. That's it."

"A trip _where_?" Dean asked as he turned to Martha. He couldn't look the Doctor in the face then. He probably wouldn't ever be able to again.

She smiled. "Anywhere," she brightly answered. "Time or place is not an obstacle. Right, Doctor?"

"Hmm?" He glanced up as he strolled to the other side of the console. "Oh, yes. Right. Any time, any place," he confirmed then pretended to study the readout on the monitor.

Dean eyed them, suspicious. "This isn't some kind of pity deal, is it? Because I'm gonna be - "

"No," Martha assured him as she shook her head. "If it hadn't been for you, there's no tellin' what might've happened to us, let alone the entire planet." A pause. "_Right_, Doctor?"

"Hmm?" He raised his head; Martha watched him, expectantly. "Oh, yes. Right. Not the slightest!"

A smile crept to Dean's face. "Lemme see if I've got this straight," he said as joined the Doctor on his side of the console. "_You're_ offerin' _me_ a trip to any time and anywhere in the universe ..." He came to a stop beside the alien. " ... because I saved _your_ ass from the Malus?"

The Doctor gritted his teeth at the smug tone with which the human spoke. He cleared his throat. "Something like that," he muttered. He side-glanced at the grinning young man. "Though, you're in no way _obligated_ to accept the offer -"

"Hey, hey," Dean cut in as his grin faded. "Hold on a second. Nobody's sayin' no, Doc. Especially not me." He folded his arms across his chest, a contemplative expression on his face as he tipped his head back. "Any time, any place." He slid his gaze to the Doctor, an eyebrow raised. "No questions asked? I say and you go?"

He stood straight before he fully faced Dean then, completely serious, replied, "I trust you won't do anything _stupid_ wherever you choose to go."

After a moment, Dean's arms dropped to his sides. "Okay. Lawrence, Kansas. November 2nd, 1983."

The Doctor's eyebrow cocked as he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets; he rocked back and forth on his feet as he eyed Dean. "Rather specific date," he evenly commented.

"I thought this deal was no questions asked?"

He shrugged and removed his hands from his pockets. "I didn't ask anything, merely made a statement." He waited, watching Dean's reaction closely before he finally sighed. "Well, November 2nd, 1983; Lawrence, Kansas, it is, then! Any particular area, or is that left for me to decide?"

"I'll tell you where to go."

The Doctor made a grand gesture with his hand after he cranked the wheel nearby a few times. "_Allons-y_!" he declared then yanked a lever upwards.

-

The TARDIS wound down and the Doctor turned to Dean. "Well ... here we are – November 2nd, 1983, in Lawrence, Kansas. Exactly where you requested," he announced. He spun the wheel and adjusted the lever half a click. "It's approximately 4:26 and eleven seconds in the afternoon. I hope that's good enough for you?" He folded his arms across his chest.

Dean stared at the closed doors. "You're _sure_ we're really ... there?" he asked after several moments. He looked back to the Doctor. "Not on some weird planet three galaxies away or ... China in 1900?"

"I _can_ manage a precise destination when the TARDIS is in proper working order," the Doctor indignantly sniffed. "And _who_ goes to China in 1900? I've better things to do than be slaughtered during a rebellion." As he lifted his gaze from the monitor (he'd double-checked their location, just in case), he saw Dean gazed upon the doors again.

"Dean?" Martha gently placed a hand on his shoulder. She quickly withdrew it when he startled at her touch. "Are you all right then?"

"Yeah," he murmured then turned to the Doctor. "How long are you gonna let me stay here?"

"As long as you like," he replied. "Weeell ... granted nothing of a universe-threatening nature occurs, of course. In which case, I'll be forced to leave in a hurry." He pointed a finger at him. "_Do_ keep that in mind and don't wander too far."

He half-shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"You may need this." The Doctor folded his long coat before he tossed it to Dean who neatly caught it. "It's more than a bit brisk today."

"I remember," he softly said. He noticed Martha, watching him with that expression of compassion and concern which had become so familiar to him. As he looked away, he unfurled the coat, slipped it on. "I won't be long," he muttered as he headed for the doors. His hand froze on the lock when he heard the Doctor call out.

"Remember: I _trust_ you won't do anything _stupid_!"

After a quick glance behind him, Dean flipped the lock and opened the TARDIS doors. The blast of crisp, nearly Arctic, air was even harsher than it would've been; considering not but fifteen minutes earlier it was mid-summer six years in the future.

Once Dean stepped out of the ship, Martha turned around. The Doctor was leaned over the console, his gaze intent on the readouts the monitor gave him. He intermittently clicked a key, nodding a little afterwards. "Maybe I should go with him?" she suggested. "You know ... just in case?"

He shook his head, eyes still fixated on the screen. "No. You'll stay right here, Martha."

"Why?" she countered, a little more harshly than she'd meant. Despite the events which had transpired not long ago, she wasn't over being dumped on the TARDIS. As though she didn't have anything to offer in the way of help.

"This is a decision he'll have to make on his own."

She frowned, puzzled by the response. "Decision? What decision?"

-

A bitter wind swayed the leafless tree branches and fluttered the coat around Dean's legs. It was much colder than he'd remembered. His hands plunged deep inside of the pockets, and he noted how strange the Doctor's coat felt. Nothing like his worn leather jacket, which in 2007, in the back of his car. Still, it did what it had to do. He was impressed. The guy'd actually landed the piece of junk right where he'd told him to. The box, which stuck out horribly on this residential street, was settled caddy-corner to the Winchester house.

Home. Well, what had been home until ... He frowned when he felt something in the left-hand pocket of the coat. Withdrawing it, his eyes widened. The Colt - the fully functional, _working_ Colt - was in his hand. He glanced back inside of the TARDIS. Had the Doctor forgotten it was there? He shifted his gaze to the house, an idea in his head.

Finally, his mind made up, he dropped the gun back into the pocket and stepped off of the sidewalk. With each step he took, his heart pounded faster. The closer he came to the house, the more intense the anxiety. His mind raced with various scenarios of what might happen when he reached the door.

Did he tell her she was in danger? Beg her to take the family and get as far away as possible? To run and hide, no matter what? Give her the Colt and tell her to shoot anyone strange who was in Sam's nursery that night? Would she believe him? Think he was nuts? Worse yet, call the cops? Before he knew it, he was face-to-face with the front door.

He remembered it all too well. Halloween had just gone by, and he'd spent the better part of the past two days hunting for the trick-or-treat candy his mother had hidden away from him. Incredibly unfair, he thought at the time. He'd worked damn hard for it, why shouldn't he have it whenever he wanted? Left to his own devices, he would've been puking up chocolate, peanuts and caramel for a solid week. Stupid kid.

On the porch, his fist hovered a few inches away from the front door. Should he? Would it even make a damn bit of difference? Would it rip apart the fabric of space and time, like the Doctor claimed? How could saving his mother's life bring about the end of the universe? It was his _mother_. Outside of that, how important was she to time and space? Would Time really _notice_ if she didn't die tonight? Would Space truly _care_ if he altered a tiny piece of his own history?

Images of an alternate life, a life where Mary Winchester _had_ survived, flashed through his mind's eye. Sam was normal, he had Jessica, he was happy, and things were _right_. A world with Yellow Eyes dead, and everything would be right. No one died. Not until they were _supposed_ to, anyway. Which was peacefully, after an extensive string of uneventful moments. Not by trading one's soul to an alien-demon in order to save a dying son's life. So what if it all changed? Would Time notice? Would Space care?

'He couldn't go back, even if it was an option,' Martha's words came back to him. 'Time, as I've learned, is complicated.'

'Time is complicated!' the Doctor's voice shouted. 'And I certainly haven't any available to explain its intricacies to _you_!'

The wind blew again, but he didn't notice, he only stared at his closed fist, still inches away from the door. He closed his eyes, a stream of memories from his life up until that point almost overwhelmed him.

'I trust you won't do anything _stupid_ ...'

Slowly, he lowered his arm as he opened his eyes, which were moist with the beginnings of tears. Shaking his head, he heavily sighed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. As he turned to leave he was stopped by the sound of the of the front door being opened.

Mary Winchester peered through the crack then smiled when the stranger faced her. "I thought I'd heard someone out here," she greeted, and opened the door wider.

He stood there, rigid, trying to figure out what the hell to say. Usually, lying about who he really was came so easy, like asking someone what his favorite color was and receiving an instant response. But now? With his mother - his _real mother_, not a dream or a hallucination - looking him directly in the eye? He focused on resisting the urge to hug her, tell her he was sorry for everything he'd ever done wrong, and he loved her.

"Who is it?" a child's voice from somewhere behind the door demanded.

Leaning back, Mary looked to her right. "Go into the other room," she gently replied. She smiled as she focused on the stranger again. "What can I do for you?"

Don't die, he wanted to say. Instead, he uneasily shifted from one foot to the other. "I ... uh ... I was ..." He searched for a convincing lie, something which wouldn't arouse too much suspicion. Then it came to him. "I was looking for John?" Yeah, that wasn't strange. His father had old friends from his Marine days show up now and again. He didn't have time to do the math in his head, he just hoped he appeared old enough.

"Oh. Well, he isn't home right now -"

"Mommy?"

"But he should be in a few minutes, though." She leaned forward and peered in the direction from which he usually returned home. Her kind gaze settled on the visitor. "If you want, you're more than welcome to wait - "

"_Mommy?_" The voice was insistent on attention.

Dean glanced at the door. He certainly couldn't see himself, but it was strange to _hear_ himself. Especially at that age, the one he couldn't muster up many non-frightening memories of. Then, slightly alarmed, he took a step back. What if he saw himself? Would it throw time and space out of whack? Would it explode or implode or whatever if that happened? He didn't want to wait around to find out.

"Can we go outside?"

"Honey, you know its too cold out for Sammy."

"_He_ doesn't have to go," was the disdainful retort.

"Why don't you play in your room?" Mary suggested.

"I don't _want to_!" the child angrily shouted.

"Dean -"

"It's not fair! He messes up _everything_! I wish he'd _go away_!" The sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs was soon followed by a loud door slam.

His head bowed, Dean stared at his feet. He hadn't remembered that before; it was painfully clear in his memory now. Some of the last words he'd ever spoken to his mother on that day ... He shook his head, the guilt of it heavier than ever. Had he really been that selfish? He couldn't recall ever not wanting Sam around. But this was so _long_ ago, before ... "I didn't mean it," he murmured without realizing.

"What?" Mary turned, a strangely curious expression on her face as she regarded him.

"I'm sure _he _didn't mean it," Dean quickly corrected himself. He relaxed when his mother did. This was getting too dangerous, he had to leave. Now.

"He's had a tough time adjusting to his new brother," she said, almost sadly, with a sigh. She shook her head. "Things are ... so different."

"I used to be the same way, with my own little brother." Dean avoided looking her in the eyes. It was difficult enough to not lose it when he was faced with just her. Now he had Sam, whom he'd barely had the time to consider the past day, on his mind. "These days, I couldn't live without him." He finally met his mother's gaze. "He'll change. Don't worry."

She softly smiled. "I hope it's sooner rather than later." She rubbed her hands over her uppers arms, shivering. "Are you sure you don't want to wait inside for John?"

"No," he quickly said as he took a step away. "I'll just ... come back ..." He did his best to smile. Difficult, knowing what was in her near future. "Sorry I bothered you." He half-stumbled down the porch steps. "Goodbye," he murmured then turned and walked away.

"Goodbye," she called. Her hand rested against the edge of the door, her expression more somber as she watched him head for an extremely familiar blue box. "Dean," she added in a whisper. Once he'd vanished inside of the TARDIS, she gently closed the door.

-

Martha jumped to her feet and the Doctor raised his head as the doors to the TARDIS slammed shut. Dean marched up the ramp as he shed the coat. He didn't even glance at them as he passed by the console. "You can take me back, Doc," he shortly said, dropping it on the console by the alien.

Curious, he looked from the coat to Dean, who kept walking. "Are you certain?" he asked as Dean opened the door leading to the rest of the ship. His answer was the door being slammed shut. "Well," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

"I wonder what's the matter?" Martha shifted her gaze to the Doctor, who only sifted through his coat pockets. Her eyes narrowed. "Aren't you even remotely curious? He seemed awfully bothered."

Once he withdrew his hand from the left pocket, yet not enough for Martha to see what it was, he paused. The Colt. "He'll be fine," he assured. He dropped the gun into the pocket and placed the coat on the seats. As he punched in a new course, he continued. "Well, we should be off then. We've a lot of work to do in a short amount of time!"

She stared at him, a partially incredulous expression on her face. How could be so _indifferent_? Obviously, something had upset Dean here and the Doctor didn't seem to care. Well, if he didn't care enough to ask, she certainly did. Without a word, she headed towards the door.

"Martha."

She whirled around on a heel when the Doctor said her name. "What?" she shortly asked.

"Leave it." As she opened her mouth to respond, he raised his eyebrows as he peered over the top rims of his glasses. Then, more earnestly, he repeated, "Leave it."

Her mouth snapped shut and she folded her arms across her chest. "Why?" she demanded.

"Martha, I'd rather not argue about this," he sighed. "Please."

Lips pressed together in a thin line, she looked over her shoulder to the door. What had happened out there? The curiosity was almost unbearable. She'd never seen Dean look that way before. The sound of the TARDIS dematerializing made her face the Doctor.

Hands tucked in his pockets, the Doctor rocked back and forth on his feet. "Next stop – the Camelopardis Galaxy," he brightly announced, manner wholly opposite than it had been moments before. "The year 10,013, by the Earth calendar."

"I thought you'd agreed to take him home?"

"Well, yes, eventually," he replied. He moved to the other side of the console then looked to her. The glow of the column in the its center illuminated his face in an almost eerie manner. "However, we must complete our original mission first – destruction of the key. And a dying star awaits us there."

"Then you'll return him to his own time, without a second thought."

"What else am I to do?"

"_Well_," she mimicked him. "You could start by sorting out this deal of his. You haven't even tried to help, Doctor, and I don't understand why not." She eyed him. "I've never known you to turn down an opportunity to save someone, no matter who they are. Why are you so eager to dump him off on Earth?"

"Oh, I don't want to _dump him off_, as you put it," the Doctor shot back, more than annoyed.

"Then why won't you help him?" she demanded as she came closer to him. "Is it because you don't _want_ to?"

"No," he angrily replied.

Her eyes narrowed. "Then why?"

The Doctor's hands slipped through his hair as he whirled around to face her. "Because I'm not certain that I _can_!" he nearly shouted in response. He watched her anger quickly morph into astonishment. "All right?" he continued, much calmer. "Is that a clear enough answer for you?" When she didn't reply, he added, "I'm sorry, Martha."

"I thought you -"

"Yes, I know," he cut in. He placed his hands on the console as he leaned forward. He studied the readouts and flashing lights. They made sense to him, they were _logical_. "I know what I told you earlier." He softly sighed. "But today ... today I witnessed something which I can't find an explanation for. It doesn't match my knowledge of the universe. And I know _everything_."

"Mostly everything, it would seem," she lightly corrected. She tried to smile when he looked to her, but his expression stopped it. He truly was _bothered _by this. "It was one incident. What does one incident matter?"

"If I'm unable to explain one 'incident', Martha ... " He stood straight, and approached her as he spoke. "If I'm unable to classify even _one_ event in _some_ scientific and logical way, it shouldn't even be possible. Yet if it _is_ possible ..."

"What else is out there that you don't know about," she finished. He looked away, which was more than enough confirmation for her she was right. "You say _you_ can't explain it." She gestured to the closed door behind her. "But _he_ can. Frankly, Doctor, at this point, I can't help but believe him."

"That it was a _ghost_?" he exclaimed, thoroughly stunned by her admission. "An actual ghost?" He threw his hands in the air as he turned away. "It's impossible!" He whirled around, his eyes wide, and his jaw clenched in frustration. "It's utterly and absolutely _impossible_!"

"I was skeptical as well," she defensively replied as she motioned to herself. "That is, until I actually spoke with her, inside of the ship. She said it knew." She closed the distance between them. "She said the Malus _knew_ her energy could sustain it, if she were dead. This is an alien being, Doctor! Just like _you are_!"

He swept his hands through his hair, which was now wet with perspiration. As he turned away, he stared at the floor while he considered it.

The Malus was a probe, a piece of machinery and living being designed to thoroughly study the creatures of a potential conquest world. In its brief encounters with humans, it would've revealed their irrational fears. The projections were a response, the false image of a 'ghost', designed to inspire panic. Yes. A projection. It had tricked her into believing it was actually Monica Churchill. That's why she'd left the TARDIS in the first place.

No. He shook his head, slowly, as a new fact popped into his equation. Impossible. It _couldn't_ have been a projection. The ship's defense systems would've prevented such an invasion. Whatever the Malus would've attempted to send after Martha wouldn't have penetrated the hull. This made no sense! What was the answer?

"Doctor?"

He pivoted on a heel, his arms dropping to his sides as he faced Martha. She was concerned, as usual. Uneasily, he sank down into the seat, his blank gaze locked on the console as he did.

"Are you all right?"

He raised a hand to keep her away from him. "I'll be ... fine," he quietly assured her. "I need to ... " He closed his eyes and shook his head again. "I need time ... to think," he sighed. "Time ... just need time." Martha moved closer but suddenly stopped when the Doctor looked her directly in the eyes. "Martha ... please."

With a single nod, she backed away. "I'll ... I'll be ..." She motioned to the door as she continued to retreat. "If you need me."

He didn't hear her words, or the sound of the door as it closed behind her when she left. Staring at the floor, he replayed the events just before the final destruction of the Malus in his mind. What _was _she? At the moment, she was merely an unknown entity, comprised of an energy whose signature he'd never before encountered. There was a logical explanation for it, somewhere in science. There _always_ was.

Wasn't there?

-

End Chapter Twelve.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

--

Reclined on the single bed, his hands clamped together behind his head, Dean stared at the white ceiling above him. He'd spent most of the past two hours in this position, thinking on not only the last day, but the last week, the last month, the last decade. Everything from November 2nd, 1983, until the point he'd returned to the TARDIS after seeing his mother.

Usually, he did whatever he could to avoid this. One of the good things about his life until recently was his job. It kept him distracted. When it didn't, he found other ways. Sam never understood that most of what he did wasn't to escape reality; no one could really do that. If they thought it was possible, they were lying to themselves. Reality always comes back.

Sam didn't have to worry about distraction. He'd left; he'd created another life for himself, one which had nothing to do with their screwed up childhood. If all their problems had ended in Wyoming, Sam had a _real life_ to fall back on. He, on the other hand, was defined by a single role. Without it, who the hell _was_ he? He didn't know, and he'd never thought about it because he'd avoided it. He couldn't anymore, thanks to the Doctor.

If he were honest, it wasn't that the guy had proved everything he'd ever believed in was wrong, it was the revelation took the meaning from the life he had remaining. If one thing had made him okay with his current mess, it was knowing he could still do the job. Without it, without Sam needing him around, what was he supposed to do? He had no purpose. Like the Japanese samurai in those Kurosawa flicks, the masterless guys who became ronin. At least those dudes could find work once in a while.

Releasing a frustrated breath, he sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. Elbows rested on his knees, he wiped his hands over his face. What was the goddamn hold up? It shouldn't take _that_ long to get back to 2007. He was no expert but even he knew as much. He definitely didn't want to ask the Doctor what the hell was taking so long, either.

His eyes narrowed. He hated the son of a bitch more than anyone else in the universe. That alien asshole knew _exactly_ where they were going earlier, when he'd asked to visit Lawrence on that particular day. He'd never mentioned dates or specifics during his talk with Martha, she couldn't have said anything. Somehow, he knew. Maybe he'd read his mind. He'd said the Malus came after him first because of 'advanced telepathic abilities'.

One thing Dean did know – before he left, he'd punch the bastard square in his fucking face. It wouldn't change a thing, but he'd sure as hell feel better afterwards.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Dean?"

Martha. No big shock there, of course it was her. She was the only one on the ship who gave a damn about somebody other than herself.

"Dean?" she called out again.

"Come in."

After the door opened, she poked her head into the room. "Are you all right?" She studied him, biting her lower lip. He'd an unusually intense expression on his face. Well, more so than any other he'd worn since she'd met him.

"Yeah," he lied as he sat up straight. He gestured for her to enter the room. Once she shut the door, she leaned against it. "So, I'm guessin' it's time to go?" He half-smiled. "Or did this piece of crap ship of his decide to take us to a galaxy far, far away again? Or are we in the Jurassic period or something?"

She shook her head, her lips pressed together in a thin line now. "No. We're in the Camelopardis Galaxy, roughly eight thousand years in our future." A pause. "The Doctor brought us here, for a specific purpose."

"What's that?"

"A star." She drummed her fingers, a bit nervously, against the wall as she looked away. "When it finally dies, he plans to use it on the Colt. Something about the magnitude of the energy blast ensuring complete destruction." She flicked her gaze back to him; he seemed unfazed by it. "You aren't still ..."

"Still what? Wanting it back?" When she nodded, he snorted as he waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "He can do whatever the hell he wants with it. I don't care anymore. At this point, I just want to go home."He shook his head. "The way this jackass drives, it'll be 2032 before I see Sam again."

Suddenly, her face brightened as she reached into her back jeans pocket. "Would you like to ring him?" she asked as she produced her mobile.

Dean eyed the phone in her hand before he settled his attention on her. "How? It's not like you get reception out here. I've already tried." He watched her take a seat next to him as she clicked a button on the cell. "Are you serious? You can get a signal with that?"

"The Doctor upgraded my service." She grinned. "With this, I'm able to ring any one, no matter when or where in space or time I may be." She offered it to him. After a hesitation, he accepted it. "It's _excellent_ reception as well. I've phoned my mother several times."

His gaze dropped to the cell. He stared at the small Archangel Network icon as it rotated in the upper left hand corner of the screen. With this, he could actually talk to Sam, even though his brother was eight thousand years and who knew how many miles away? As much as he hated the guy, Dean had to admit the Doctor had impressive skills.

"Thanks," he quietly said then handed it back to her. "But it's better if I don't."

Her brow furrowed as she took it from him. "Why not?"

"If I'm gonna be back in my own timeline like I never left, what's the point?" He shrugged. "I don't want to get him worked up over a mysterious phone call." He glanced at the cell in her hand. "Still, I appreciate the offer. It was nice of you." He watched her slip it back into her jeans pocket. "Honestly, you're the only good thing to come out of this crap, Martha," he admitted.

She smiled. "I certainly empathize with your situation," she said. "Bein' far from home, away from everything familiar, not sure if you'll ever get back to it." She gently placed a hand on one of his, her smile warmer now. "Honestly, it's been rather ... fun, having you along. Someone like me – human." She looked away, the smile fading. "Some times, I wonder if the Doctor remembers I'm even here."

"Anyone who forgets you're around is a friggin' moron."

With a small laugh, she lifted her head, only to be surprised by Dean's lips touching hers. Light at first, then with more meaning. His hand left hers and slipped around her neck, just below her jawline. She didn't return the kiss but nor did she move away, either. It was strange; she couldn't decide if she wanted it. Not until she noticed his other hand creeping up the left side of her body did she make up her mind. Hands firmly planted on his shoulders, she pushed him back.

"What're you doin'?"

"Thought it was obvious enough," he answered with a grin. However, when he tried again, she slipped from his grasp and nearly jumped to her feet. She stood with her back pressed against the wall. With the look on her face, coupled with her sudden reaction, he felt stupid. "Sorry," he apologized. "Guess I read that wrong, huh?"

She nodded once. "I'd say you did!"

Slowly, he rose to his feet, an uneasy smile on his face. "Really, Martha, I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's just, uh, I haven't met many women like you. And even then, it was obvious they were ... you know."

She started to respond then her eyes widened when she realized what he'd meant. "Wait, you think I'm -" She pointed to herself as she felt the uncomfortable tension between them vanish. She almost laughed when his uneasiness turned into confusion. "I'm not," she assured him, her smile more mischievous. "You're making_ that_ mistake a lot today."

"Yeah," he mumbled as he quickly looked away. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, his face hot. He felt -more- stupid now. No, not stupid, but something much worse: rejected. Casually, he shrugged as he let his hand drop down. "I've never had a woman react like that before ..." Not "never", but she didn't need to know the facts, did she? "I assumed ..."

Her smile turned wry as she folded her arms over her chest. "You assumed the only reason a woman wouldn't be interested in kissing you is because she's _lesbian_," she finished. When he dared to look at her, she cocked her head to one side. "Aren't _you_ up yourself?" she added, her tone more teasing than annoyed. "It couldn't possibly be you're not her type, could it?"

When it was clear she wasn't pissed off, he relaxed; his own smile turned slightly smug. "I'm _every_ woman's type," he matter-of-factly stated. One of her eyebrows arched, as if to say, 'Oh, really?' "You know wha I meant. _Almost_ every woman's."

"Hmm," she murmured, unimpressed. "It isn't at all possible she fancies someone _else_?"

He took measured steps in her direction as he smoothly replied, "It's funny ... they always forget about other guys once they've met me." When he placed a hand on the wall, just beside her head, and leaned closer to her, and added, "I bet you're _dyin'_ to find out why."

Coy grin on her face, she leaned forward until her face was mere millimeters from his. "Not at all," she whispered. Eyes glimmering, she reached behind her and opened the door, which forced him to suddenly stand straight to avoid being smacked in the face. She easily slipped out of the room then called out, "The Doctor's waiting for you!"

Shaking his head, he let out a short laugh. She wanted him; she just didn't know it yet. His sly smile faded when the reality he'd contemplated prior to her visit rushed back to him. Going home, only a year left to live, the almost certainty he'd never see her again ...

"Dammit," he breathed, shaking his head again, this time in self-pity. He half-slammed the door shut behind him as he left the room.

Unlike his earlier trek through the place, Dean felt comfortable as he navigated the corridors of the TARDIS. For some strange reason, the ship's passages weren't so confusing. It was almost as they they're rearranged themselves to be more manageable for him. He had to have imagined it – walls couldn't do that. Ahead, he saw Martha waiting near the door which led to the console room.

"Why does he want to see me?" he asked once he caught up with her.

"He didn't say," she quietly replied, glancing over her should to the door. In fact, he hadn't said much of anything when she'd returned to check in on him. Only that they'd reached their destination in the Camelopardis Galaxy and he'd wanted to speak with Dean. "You should be a little nicer to him, though."

"Why the hell would I do _that_?" he demanded, more angry than he'd meant to sound. "The whole time I've been stuck here, he's been an asshole. And I'm supposed to treat him like a special and delicate snowflake?" He scoffed. "No. And not just 'no', _hell no_."

"Dean, please." She'd made a conscious effort to not sound like she was begging, but she wasn't terribly successful. "He's ... " She looked away. "He's been strange the past few hours."

"The past few _hours_?" he incredulously repeated. When Martha's gaze met his, he shut his mouth. The worry and concern were evident, it was the most troubled he'd seen her yet. "Define 'strange'." The sarcasm and general disgust was absent from his tone. "I've seen a lotta strange behavior – mostly from Sam – but strange all the same."

Her hands nervously wrung together as she lowered her gaze to the floor again. All she recalled was the distant expression on the Doctor's face. The look a normal person would get when he'd become privy to information and is unsure whether or not it's believable. And if it was, what kind of consequences it entailed, and how severe they would be.

"What happened at the Churchill house, with the Malus and Monica's ... ghost, it's unsettled him," she quietly explained. "He can't sort out an explanation which makes sense, and ..." She looked to Dean, whose own expression was indecipherable. "Well, he isn't able to accept the alternative."

"What's the alternative?"

"That you're right; it was an _actual_ ghost."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"That's different, huh?" he flatly said. "Wasn't he swearing up and down the other day that everything supernatural could be scientifically explained?" He couldn't help but smirk now, a sense of satisfaction replacing the general anxiety he'd felt about going home. He couldn't help it. With the way the Doctor had so arrogantly insisted _his_ version of the universe was the _only_ version, it was hard to feel sympathy for the son of a bitch.

"Yes, but -" Martha was cut off by Dean's chuckling.

"Man, is _this_ gonna be good." His grin turned more devious as he thought of the ways he'd rub the salt in the wound.

She frowned. Though she felt the Doctor was harsher than he should've been with Dean, it didn't erase her feelings for him. The desire to protect him from everything, even a fellow human, outweighed all else. "Don't mention it." She couldn't keep the pleasing out of her tone this time. She placed her hands on his upper arms, which made him look to her. "_Please_?"

With the way she gaze up at him, he couldn't say no. As much as he'd wanted it for himself, he didn't want to make _her_ miserable. The bastard was her friend after all. Who the hell knew why? Or why she was even with him in the first place.

"I won't say anything," he finally assured her. He inwardly sighed. The words almost caused him physical pain to utter. For that he felt he deserved some sort of retribution. "But," he continued. "My head's been botherin' me." He touched the bandage then sadly shook his head. "I might forget. Is there something you could give me for the pain?"

Martha's folded her arms over her chest as she studied him. "If you're in pain, it's my duty as a physician to do whatever I must to ease it."

"Really?" He hadn't meant to sound as surprised as he did. With as coy and sly she'd been earlier, it couldn't be this easy to get what he wanted. Any suspicion was overruled by the glint in her eyes and the seductive smile on her face now. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Oh, I thought I'd smack your gob," she stated. Her eyebrows lifted when his grin vanished. "It would take your mind off how much your head hurts," she added. "How's that for an effective treatment?"

His hands went up in a white flag manner as he carefully maneuvered around her. "All right, all right," he said as he backed away to the door. "You win. For now." He grinned again. "I'm not givin' up."

"You'd have better luck with the Doctor." She pleasantly smiled then waved her fingers at him. "Bye." As the door fell shut behind Dean, Martha's smile melted away. She prayed Dean would keep his word and not get into yet _another _argument with the Doctor. That was the last thing either one of them needed. Especially if she wasn't around to stop it.

-

After Dean entered the console room, he came to an abrupt halt. The distinct sound of ticking clocks all around him gave away to an easy, mellow tune. "Is that Pink Floyd?" he murmured. After nearly a minute of listening to the music, his suspicion was confirmed:

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

You fritter and waste the hours in an off-hand way

Kicking around on a piece of ground, in your hometown

Waiting for someone or something to show you the way ..."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Time". What the hell other Pink Floyd song would a _Time Lord_ listen to? As he shifted his attention to his left, his smile faded.

At the end of the ramp, standing in front of the open TARDIS doors, gazing out on the black of space, was the Doctor. His hands were tucked into his pants pockets and he rocked back and forth on his feet, in synch with the music. Curious, Dean made his way past the console and down the ramp. As he neared the doors, more of what was outside was visible.

"And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking

Racing around to come up behind you again

The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older

Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death ..."

Beyond the ship, Dean had no idea how far away, was an incredible sight. Even more impressive than the pink seas and blue-green skies of Thoros Beta. Before him was a massive sphere, he'd seen enough Discovery Channel specials on astronomy to know it was a star. Its brilliance had dimmed but it still managed to be an awe-inspiring thing, with its hazy reddish light emanating from a muted white center. The darkness of space loomed like a vulture, waiting for the light to fizzle so it could close in and finish it off. The star, though, refused to give up.

"The oldest star in the Camelopardis Galaxy," the Doctor thoughtfully commented. He side-glanced as Dean stopped by him at the open doors. He heavily sighed. "And it's dying. 'Hanging on in quiet desperation ...'" A faint smile crossed his lips.

Dean's gaze shifted to the Doctor's intense profile. The melancholy in his tone, it was odd. Almost like it depressed him that some random star was dying. Outside, his attention was briefly caught by a flare of white light from it.

"Even a star, when faced with its own mortality, will do whatever to cling to existence. Just one more minute, one more day, one more year ..." The Doctor shook his head, the melancholy replaced by genuine wonder. "It's the nature of all living things, to fight for life, no matter how inevitable the end is."

After he studied it a few moments, he casually shrugged. "It's just a star, Doc."

"_Just_ a star?" he repeated. "Is that what you think?" He motioned to the darkness to their right. "It's more than that to the people who live on a planet not far from here. They've depended on it for survival since they evolved." He shook his head again as his arm lowered. "Without it, their civilization is lost. Their existences so closely linked, they're both on the brink of extinction."

"So why don't you do something about it?"

The Doctor's lips pressed together. "It isn't my place to interfere with the natural course of the universe. Their time is done."

"How can you know that?"

"I don't know it, I _feel_ it." He looked down at his hands outstretched before him. "Everything in my being tells me it's wrong to interfere. The burden of a Time Lord." He lowered his hands as his gaze returned to the star. "Despite the inevitable, it simply won't give over."

"Come on, Doc. How does a _star_ know it's dyin'?"

The Doctor looked the human dead in the eye as he asked, "How do _you_ know?"

"Havin' been close to it more than once already ..." He reflected on both of those experiences. As much as he didn't want to die, it was disturbingly easy for him to accept. On some subconscious level, he'd given up because he knew it was coming. Even more disturbing was the sense of relief he'd felt in that moment. "It's just ... _there_. Something tells you your time's up."

The Doctor's attention shifted back to the star. He'd essentially died nine times himself already; he knew when he was destined for regeneration. Unlike humans and stars, however, he also knew it wasn't the absolute end. With regeneration, he'd come back, only with a new face and a new personality. A star like this could become a red giant, a planetary nebula, or a white or black dwarf; it was a different entity after death. Humans, though ...

"It's struggled for centuries now, but it's useless. The future is inevitable, what it will become. I ... I used to know, with absolute certainty, the same of _everything_ in the universe."

This must've been what Martha meant by him acting stranger than usual. Frankly, it creeped him the hell out. "Doc, as much as I'm finding this whole conversation interesting, would you mind getting' to the point?" When the Doctor focused on him, he added, "I know you didn't send Martha after me so we could chat about a dying star."

"You're quite right, I didn't." He gestured for Dean to follow him as he headed up the ramp to the console. "Actually, I'd wanted to show you something." He clicked a few keys and sound level of the music drastically lowered. Another click changed the display on the monitor.

When Dean stepped beside him, the Doctor motioned to the fluctuating wavelength pattern near the top. "What's this?"

"The signature of the unknown energy source which powered the Malus at the Churchill house," the Doctor answered. "I analyzed it and broke it down into something I eventually did recognize." He hit another key and a new pattern appeared below the first. "I managed because, in case you didn't know, I'm clever."

Dean shot him a brief look before he studied the patterns on the screen again. He shrugged. "I have no damn idea what I'm lookin' at," he grumbled. "You're the science guy, explain it."

"This -" He ran his finger beneath the second pattern. "Is the psychokinetic energy pattern of a living human being," he said. "I have quite a few on file, so I used them as a baseline for the analysis and ..." He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. "Well, there it is."

"I still don't get what you're tryin' to show me," Dean replied, his aggravation growing. "Explain it like I'm five years old."

"I _was_."

His eyes narrowed. "Just explain it."

The Doctor clicked another key so only the bottom pattern remained on screen. "This is what Monica Churchill's psychokinetic energy pattern would've looked like when she was alive." He hit a key and the second, nearly identical pattern, joined it. "This is the energy pattern I detected as the source of the Malus' power. Do you see it now?"

As he leaned closer, Dean squinted at the screen. "Yeah." He pointed. "This one spike's down where the other goes up. It's almost like a mirror image." He looked to the Doctor. "What's it mean? Why does this matter?"

"It shouldn't be possible for a human pattern to exist, especially that strongly, after death." He gaze down on the screen, his features more contemplative. "This pattern, it's not only what powered the Malus, it survived separately of it. Well, it _did_, at any rate."

Dean stood straight. "What do you mean, 'it did'?"

"When the Malus was completely destroyed, the pattern vanished from the ship's sensors." He met the human's gaze. "The energy burned itself out of existence in its effort to stop the Malus from self-destructing. It's gone." He punched a key and both patterns blinked out. "Forever."

"Wait a minute," Dean said as the Doctor retreated to the opposite side of the console. "Are you tellin' me you have no explanation for the second pattern? Not aliens or dead guys from another dimension or some other thing?" When the Doctor didn't answer, he laughed. "That's it, isn't it? You can't explain it because _you_ don't know!"

"I'm quite certain I'll sort it out in time ..." the Doctor calmly said as he sat down. He pulled his coat across his lap. "As of now ..." He looked to Dean. "No, I don't know."

"Well," Dean's tone turned more smug as he strolled behind the seats. He watched as the alien sifted through the coat's pockets. "_I_ know." He rested his arms on the back of the seat as he leaned over to get a clearer look at the Doctor's face. "Lemme explain it to you like you're a five year old." He pretended to mull it over then said, loudly, "It was a _ghost_! Residual energy of a departed human being from _this_ dimension." He saw no change in the other man's expression. "Am I talkin' above your intelligence level, Doc? Because I can dumb it down for you, if I am."

The Doctor paused in his rifling to turn his head and glare. "I said, I didn't know_ yet_," he evenly replied, obvious restrain on his voice. "But if there is the slightest possibility that I'm wrong – and I emphasize _slightest_ possibility – perhaps ..."

"Perhaps what?"

He let out a breath, unable to believe what he was about to say. "Perhaps, when you've returned to Earth, you and your brother should ... continue to do what it is you do there."

Dean blinked. "Huh? Did you say what I think you just said? Sam and I need to keep doing our job? The one _you_ said was bullshit because demons and vampires weren't real? Not in the way that _we_ think, anyway."

Teeth gritted, the Doctor nodded. He withdrew the Colt from his long coat's pocket. He held it up between them and watched the light glint against the metal. "Considering your performance at the Churchill house, as well as your obvious dedication in keeping it out of the wrong hands ..." He offered the gun to Dean. "You've proven yourself a worthy guardian of this."

He glanced from the gun to the Doctor. "After everything you went through, you're just handin' it over? After all of the sanctimonious jabbing about how dangerous it is to the universe, you're just sayin', 'Hey, here it is. No hard feelings'?"

"Well, if you don't _want_ it," the Doctor replied as he looked to the open doors. "We've a few minutes before the star finally -"

Dean snatched the Colt from him. "I don't think so," he cut in. He gave it a once over. "So, thanks. This'll be real helpful in our fight." Real helpful, so he could put a bullet in that crossroads bitch's head.

"Oh, it isn't _functional_ in that capacity any longer."

He flicked his narrowed gaze to the Doctor. "What?"

"I've disrupted the wave pattern." He noticed the expression on Dean's face. "What, you didn't honestly believe I would relinquish a such powerful weapon to someone like _you_?"

Angrily, Dean threw it onto the seat beside the Doctor as he stood straight. "What goddamn good is it to us like that?!" he practically shouted. He pointed to it. "We need it the way it was, Doc!"

"No, you _want_ it the way it was," he corrected. "Power such as that shouldn't be considered so lightly. You must _earn_ the right to wield it, and the only way to do so is through work. Otherwise, you won't respect it. And if you don't respect it ... "

"What? We end up like those people the Time Lords offed because they had time travel too?" For a second, he regretted saying it. The words couldn't be unsaid, though. He could only watch the Doctor as he stared at the console before him.

"You'll _become_ the Time Lords," he gravely replied. He shifted his gaze to Dean. "Is that what you want? To be responsible for the end of your own race?"

"You're overstatin' the matter, Doc. We'd only use it to kill demons, not other humans."

"At first it seems so innocent and well-intentioned. Then you'll use it on someone else for the sake of the preservation of your race, your world. And then another and another, until you've nothing left to preserve." He tilted his head back, drawing in a deep breath as he thought back on his own people. "We used our mastery of time to destroy whole worlds, civilizations, galaxies, futures, in the belief it was necessary to win the last great War. Ultimately, we destroyed _ourselves_." He met Dean's gaze again. "We've hardly anything left; we're merely a legend throughout the universe we'd saved." He offered the Colt to the human. "Either accept the opportunity to earn its power, or I'll eliminate it completely."

Dean stared at the Colt. He remembered the trouble they'd gone through to find it. Twice. Yet it was so easy to use it to kill that yellow-eyed bastard. He didn't deny he'd felt pretty damn powerful in that moment. Powerful, satisfied and eager to use it again. Would he and Sam really become the Time Lords? They'd lived their lives by doing what was right, what was good. A phrase Bobby liked to turn often popped into his head: "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

Finally, he accepted it. "If we can figure out how to make it work, we won't become your people, Doc," he stated in a low voice. "One more thing I can prove you_ wrong_ about." He cracked a slight smile.

Slowly, the Doctor rose to his feet. "I hope you do, Dean," he answered with a solemn nod. "Humans have a trait which was long lost on the Time Lords as a whole."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"The ability to admit when you're wrong, and the willingness to set it right." He moved to the console and toyed with the controls. "Martha!" he called, glancing to the door.

A few seconds later, Martha entered the room, a half-curious/half-wary expression on her face. To her surprise, nothing seemed off. For once, neither the Doctor nor Dean appeared as though they wanted to punch each other. What sort of discussion did they have? And why couldn't it have happened sooner?

"Yes?" she cautiously asked as she approached them. She noted the Colt was in one of Dean's hands. The Doctor had returned it to him?

"It's time to move forward," the Doctor announced as he moved in front of the monitor. He motioned to his left. "Could you shut the doors, please, Martha?"

As Martha made her way down the ramp, Dean stepped next to the Doctor. "So ... this means I go home now, huh?"

The Doctor lifted his head just as Dean looked over his shoulder at Martha, who closed the TARDIS doors. A faint smile appeared on his face and promptly vanished when Dean turned around. "Well, yes, I should imagine so," he casually replied.

"Ah." His shoulders slumped a bit. "Figured."

When Martha joined them at the console, the Doctor glanced between them. "Unless you aren't quite ready to return, that is?"

Martha's eyebrows shot up, surprised. "What's that, then?" she asked as she looked to Dean. "I thought the only thing you've wanted was to go home?"

Before Dean could respond, the Doctor said, "Well, it is customary on my part to grant two trips – one back and one forward." He paused in setting the return course to Earth in 2007 as he flicked his attention to Dean. "But the future wouldn't interest you, would it? And you certainly couldn't leave your brother waiting, could you?"

Dean stopped him from throwing down the nearby lever. "_You_ said you could make it like I never left," he countered. He raised an eyebrow when the Doctor looked to him again. A crooked smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Unless that was a bunch of crap and you're not as good as you _think_ you are, Doc?"

"You want to _stay_ with us?" Martha couldn't quite believe it. Then, in a way, she could. Even in the most dire of situations she and the Doctor found themselves, she couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else. With another person, another human, along, it definitely would be more interesting than usual. She'd wondered if the Doctor ever traveled with more than one person in the past ...

"Time doesn't matter here, does it?" He shifted his attention to the Doctor. "One more day, one more week, one more month, whatever I can get before the inevitable. Right?"

"It's your decision," he evenly replied.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Martha asked as she looked up to Dean.

"If I go back home now, I only have a year to look forward to. I already know what's there, even if the Doc doesn't." He paused when he saw the alien's eyes briefly narrow behind his glasses. "The rest of the universe? No clue. So ... what do you think, Doc?"

The Doctor shifted his gaze to Martha. She seemed open to the idea. And, he had to admit, Dean annoyed him considerably less than when they'd first met. He studied Dean as he debated on whether or not he'd allow him an extended trip. After a few moments, he sighed. "I think we can work something out. One condition, however." He paused as both humans turned to him. He peered over the top rims of his glasses at Dean. "_You_ are no longer to refer to me as 'Doc'. Understood?"

Dean shrugged. "Whatever you say ..."

With a nod, the Doctor turned away, relieved.

"_Doc_," he added, grinning. He glanced at Martha who simply shook her head, a small smile on her face.

Teeth gritted, the Doctor threw down the lever. He already regretted his decision.

-

(Sorta) The End.

Notes: I want to thank everyone for reading this story and I'm happy if you've enjoyed it. Even if it was a long road on the last couple of chapters with editing and a few rewrites, I enjoyed writing it. Obviously, I've left it open for a little AU-verse of SPN/DW crossover stories as ideas come to me. And, yes, I _do_ have an idea for why Mary recognized the TARDIS in the past! Not sure if that'll be the first idea I write about, though. More likely, it'll be the second. At any rate – thanks again! I can go die now.


End file.
